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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899388">The Storm Before the Calm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinebuster/pseuds/spinebuster'>spinebuster</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF, NHL - Fandom, Toronto Maple Leafs - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:21:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>50,927</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinebuster/pseuds/spinebuster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Frederik Andersen finds a girl alone and crying in the middle of a Shoppers Drug Mart at 2am, her tear-stained face haunts him.  It’s all he can think about in the weeks following.  Who was she and why was she crying?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frederik Andersen - Relationship, Frederik Andersen/OFC, Frederik Andersen/Other(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frederik Andersen was tired.  He was tired, and it was nearly two o’clock in the morning, and he was walking down King Street West to get home.  Except then he remembered: he remembered he couldn’t go home yet, because he needed to pick up toilet paper, and he couldn’t go home without toilet paper.</p><p> </p><p>Or aftershave.</p><p> </p><p>Or toothpaste.</p><p> </p><p>He could never just go home like he wanted to – there always had to be <em>something</em>.  <em>Something</em> that obstructed him from doing what he wanted to do, from getting himself to the comfort of his own home, from being the traditional homebody that he was.<em>  Something</em> always thwarted his plans.  <em>Something</em> always came up.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed. </p><p> </p><p>He took out his phone and opened Google Maps to make sure he hadn’t walked past the 24-hour Shopper’s Drug Mart yet.  He knew it was a five-minute walk from his condo, but in the dark of night he knew it would be hard to see.  It also didn’t help that it was obscured within an old building, the typically large, LED-signage not present like with others.  Noticing that it was only the next block over, he hurried his pace, walking through the scores of girls in too-short dresses drunkenly tipping over on their stiletto heels grabbing onto one another for support and the boys desperate for their phone numbers following them out of the bars and clubs that lined the street with their phones in their hands and hope in their eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Because it was two o’clock in the morning, the Shoppers Drug Mart was empty.  There was one lady standing at a till, with all the self-checkouts still open.  He wasn’t even sure if the pharmacist was present, looking towards the back to see if his suspicions were correct.  It was quiet – so quiet he could practically hear the ringing of the lights above him.  The only interruptions were giggles from girls outside or cars revving their engines. </p><p> </p><p>Okay, toilet paper.</p><p> </p><p>He grabbed a small basket, putting in a quick 6-roll package inside, knowing that it would probably last him until his next road trip, when – inevitably – he’d come home late at night and realize he was out of toilet paper and would have to run back to the same Shopper’s Drug Mart to get some so he could sleep peacefully. </p><p> </p><p>Toothpaste.</p><p> </p><p>He walked a few aisles over and was greeted with the wall of toothpaste.  He grabbed an old favourite and chucked it into his basket.</p><p> </p><p>Aftershave.</p><p> </p><p>The previous aisle back.  He realized his usual was locked up in a cabinet, and he wasn’t in the mood to go ask the <em>one</em> lady working the till to get the key and unlock it just for him.  He had enough to last him.  He made the decision to come back tomorrow.  Or, technically, later today.  When there was light outside.</p><p> </p><p>Was there anything else?</p><p> </p><p>Deodorant.  He needed deodorant. </p><p> </p><p>He walked the few aisles over to where he knew the deodorant was, and as soon as he turned the corner, he saw a figure.  It was a person – that much he knew – in a stylish trench coat.  A woman – mounds of hair twisted and tied with a scrunchie in a messy bun atop her head, the wisps of hair she didn’t happen to catch cascading down her back in perfectly manicured waves.  Her back was to him.  She was standing right in front of his deodorant. </p><p> </p><p>He approached her slowly, making sure not to startle her – he was 6’3”, he knew he could startle people based on his size alone.  But the closer he got to her, he realized she wouldn’t move.  The closer he got to her, he realized she was either ignoring him or legitimately didn’t hear him.</p><p> </p><p>The closer he got to her, he realized she was crying.</p><p> </p><p>He heard it at first: soft sniffles, even softer whimpers, her body shaking slightly from her trying to keep it together and not descending into a full-on sob in the middle of the store.  He still couldn’t see her face – only her hands and her hair still – but it was still awkward.  He didn’t know what to do.  It’s not like he had ever encountered a crying girl in the middle of a Shopper’s Drug Mart at two o’clock in the morning before.  There was no precedent for this.  Fifteen seconds ago he thought he was the only customer in the store.</p><p> </p><p>“Um…excuse me?” Fred asked in as gentle of a voice he could muster.</p><p> </p><p>The poor girl jumped in shock.  She turned her head towards him quickly, like a flash, not long enough in the slightest to get a good look at her.  “Oh my God…” she mumbled.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” Fred asked as she began wiping her face with her hand.  It was then, and only then, when she turned her head slightly to look at him, that he got a good look at her.</p><p> </p><p>He knew that she was taken aback by his soft intrusion, but to say that her features took him aback was an understatement.  In less than a second, he was completely and utterly transfixed.  Rich, dark brown hair.  Perfectly tanned and contoured skin as smooth and flawless as glass.  Dominant eyebrows that framed her face.  Perfectly cut cheekbones blushed and highlighted.  Lips – <em>God, her lips</em> – full and bow-shaped, pained with a daring red. </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes full of tears, with striking hazel irises, were staring directly into his soul.</p><p> </p><p>She was, quite possibly, the most strikingly beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and would ever see, in his life.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine, Fred,” she said, in a voice equally as soft as his.  He noticed her shuffle away from him nervously, refusing to stay too close.  “I’m – I’m sorry – I –”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s brows furrowed at the mention of his name.  He had never seen this girl before in his life.  And he’d <em>know</em> if he’d seen her before.  How did she know who he was?  He knew he played for the Toronto Maple Leafs but…well…this wasn’t a girl who looked like she was into hockey.  He knew he should never judge a book by its cover and all that, but still.  “How do you know who I am?”</p><p> </p><p>A certain look flashed across her face – a look he couldn’t read.  It could have been disgust.  It could have been sorrow.  It could have been surprise.  It could have been anything, really, and the fact that he didn’t know made him upset.  “I just performed at the function you came from.”</p><p> </p><p>He was taken aback by her answer.  He had just left a charity gala – a busy one at that, with hundreds of people in attendance – and he’d heard the music being performed there…well, there was the music during the cocktail hour, and the performers during dinner, and the live band when the dancing started, and…she was there?  Which one was she?  He…he would have noticed her.  He would have listened.  If he saw somebody like her approaching the stage or at a piano he’d notice, God damn it he’d <em>notice</em>, but he didn’t remember…</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry I’m in the way,” her voice interrupted his internal battle as she moved away.  Her heels clicked on the ground below them and each step further away from him was like nails on a chalkboard to Fred.  She turned the corner. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait – wait – who – are you sure – why are you crying?” he asked.  He wanted to move but his feet were cement, stuck to the floor like heavy columns.  He couldn’t even formulate the right words.  He sounded like an idiot.  The only thing that kept flashing in his mind – not the rows upon rows of different brands of deodorant – the <em>only</em> thing he could see in front of him were her eyes.  Her striking hazel eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Bright but full of darkness.</p><p> </p><p>Full of life but full of sorrow.</p><p> </p><p>So vivacious but so unhappy.</p><p> </p><p>After a few moments, Fred was able to get his footing again, his own shoes clacking against the floor as he rushed over to the end of the aisle to catch her in the next.</p><p> </p><p>Except she wasn’t there.</p><p> </p><p>He turned around, going to the next aisle.</p><p> </p><p>The next aisle.  The next.  The next.</p><p> </p><p>Not there.  Not there.  Not there.</p><p> </p><p>He looked towards the window.  There were more people on the sidewalks now, since bars had their last call and everybody had to filter out.  He dropped his basket and ran outside, towering over everyone passing him.  He looked to his left to see if he could find her trench coat and heels walking through the crowds.  He looked to his right to see if he could find her messy bun and scrunchie.</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t there.  She wasn’t anywhere.  It was like she had disappeared into thin air, never to be heard of or seen again.  Was she a figment of his imagination?  Was she just a hallucination?  Something that his mind conjured up at two in the morning after a charity gala?  It was impossible.  This wasn’t <em>Hamlet</em>.  He wasn’t Hamlet.  No ghost was going to appear to him, speak to him, call him his name and know he went to a function that night.  No overtired or overactive imagination would do that – the least not his.</p><p> </p><p>“Sir?  Sir are you going to pay for your items or should I re-shelve them?” the poor cashier called out to him from inside the store, lifting his basket in his arms.  “Should I ring you up?”</p><p> </p><p>He took one more look to his right.  One more look to his left.  Nothing.  Should he ask the cashier?  That might make him sound like a stalker.  The last thing he needed was this cashier calling the cops on him because he wanted to follow a female stranger out of the store.</p><p> </p><p>“Sir?”</p><p> </p><p>He sighed.  He took in a big gulp of the crisp night air to make sure he was still…alive.  Cognisant.  Conscious.  He thought about the encounter: brief but life-changing.  At least for him.  He thought about her trench coat, her heels, her lips, her tears, her voice, her eyes; everything imprinted in his mind so they were unforgettable. </p><p> </p><p>He resolved: he’d scour every face in Toronto, he’d look into every pair of eyes until he found hers again. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m coming,” he finally called out, walking in through the out door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She could be at Early Mercy. </p><p> </p><p>It was all Frederik could think about as he tried to celebrate Bee McTavish’s birthday.  <em>She could be here.  She could be one of these people that keep looking at us, that keep brushing up against Auston and I trying to get our attention.  She could be one of their friends.  She could be in the washroom.</em>  <em>She could be coming, on her way now to Early Mercy, and she might walk through the door and I’ll see her.  It could happen.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>That wasn’t to say that Fred wasn’t present and in the moment; having fun with his friends and celebrating Bee and her 24<sup>th</sup> year of life by buying drink after drink at the bar; but in the back of his mind, constantly, for the last three months – almost four – was the thought that in a random location in Toronto, in a random building, in a random place, he would lock eyes with the girl he’d seen in the middle of the night at Shopper’s Drug Mart and finally find out who she is, why she was crying, and why he was so devastatingly transfixed by her.</p><p> </p><p>Fred had tried to find out who she was since then, almost obsessively so.  He was a man mesmerized and he needed to know.  He had tried to get the name of the band that performed at the function by contacting the heads of the charity, the head of public relations, the human resources manager, the man who answered the 1-800 call desk, even the poor accounts payroll manager whose email was listed on the charity’s website, but nobody would divulge the information.  He wasn’t allowed to know.  They weren’t under the discretion to divulge that information publicly (even though it was a public event).  He contacted the photographer who ended up uploading photos of the night onto his professional website (not <em>one</em> photo of her uploaded – what a load of shit), who expressed he couldn’t remember the name.  He tried remembering the members of his table that he had to schmooze with who could have picked up the name – nothing.  He scoured Instagram – the hashtags, the other girls that were there, the profiles, the tagged photos, the socialites he didn’t socialize with just to see if they had a picture with her or mentioned her by name.  He asked Brendan Shanahan if he knew.  He asked Kyle Dubas if he knew.  He asked every Leaf that was there that night if they caught the name, if they spoke to any of the members, if they took a picture, if it was in the background of another picture, if they remembered any minute detail that would give him a lead. </p><p> </p><p>Nothing.</p><p> </p><p>His chest has been permanently tightened for almost four months now.  He needed to know.  He needed to find her.</p><p> </p><p>“Serena’s here,” Auston’s voice interrupted Fred’s thoughts as he slammed his empty glass – his fourth of the night, at least – onto the bar beside Fred. </p><p> </p><p>“Who?”</p><p> </p><p>“Serena – <em>Serena</em>!” he emphasized.  Fred’s face was still blank.  “Serena DaCosta, dude,” Auston said.  “Remember…we were hooking up a while back…”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.  Right.”</p><p> </p><p>Auston looked at his friend skeptically.  “Dude, come on.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred could see the gears shifting in Auston’s head pulling him in two different directions.  Fred wanted to stop him.  Usually when this happened to Auston, it pulled him into conspiracy theory territory.  “Bro…you…you’re not hung up on Bee, are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“NO!” Fred screamed, a look of disgust on his face.  “Jesus fucking Christ, Auston, what the fuck is wrong with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What</em>?!  You can’t blame me for thinking it!” he tried to defend himself.  “Anytime she’s not in sight you look like someone ran over your dog.”</p><p> </p><p><em>It’s because I’m looking for somebody.  And I can’t do that when the birthday girl is around</em>.  “You’re a fucking lunatic.  And I know that’s the alcohol talking,” Fred shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Then why do you look like someone ran over your dog?!” Auston persisted.  “The city’s hottest girls are in this damn club right now practically lining up to hook up with you and you seem to not give a fuck because of…what?  Hmmm?” Auston waited for an answer dramatically, sticking out his head, raising his eyebrows, and pursing his lips slightly.  “You can’t hate me for wondering.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I can.”</p><p> </p><p>“So what’s the reason, then?”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no reason,” Fred shook his head again, taking a sip from his drink and hoping Auston would just end it.</p><p> </p><p>But of course, that wasn’t the case.  Auston always had to explore the other side of the gears shifting in his brain – the non-conspiracy theory side.  The side that was – unfortunately – usually right.  “Wait a second…” Auston narrowed his eyes.  “Oh…<em>dude</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not still hung up on that girl, are you?”</p><p> </p><p>The hairs of Fred’s neck stood on end.  “What girl?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, <em>fuck off</em>,” Auston said.  “The girl you’ve been <em>obsessed</em> with the last three months.  From the charity event.  That you haven’t been able to find.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred didn’t mean to hesitate – he really didn’t.  But in his simple hesitation and shaking his head and stuttering out a “N – No,” Auston had him, Auston won, and Auston knew he was right. </p><p> </p><p>“Brooooooo,” Auston threw his head back in disdain for Fred.  “Let.  It.  <em>GO</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off, Auston.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you <em>honestly</em> going to be hung up on her for the rest of the year?  For the rest of your <em>life</em>?” Auston kept asking.  “It’s already been three months, Fred.  You couldn’t find her.  You <em>can’t</em> find her.  It’s a lost cause.  You can’t let this dictate your life.  You’ve gotta…you’ve gotta move on.  If it was meant to be you would have found her already, and you haven’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Auston,” Fred rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m serious, man.  Think about it.  You can’t get hung up on this girl when you don’t even know her name.  There’s so many other things you could be spending your time on, so many other <em>girls</em> you can be paying attention to, that can be paying attention to <em>you</em>, but you can’t even see it!”</p><p> </p><p>Before Auston could continue his lecture, the girl Freddie could only presume to be Serena DaCosta appeared behind Auston.  Her long, wavy blonde hair and plump lips spread into a smile enticed Auston automatically.  “Hey,” Auston smirked.</p><p> </p><p>“Heeeeeeyyyyyyy yyyoooouuuuu,” she drawled out flirtingly, giving him an unsolicited and dramatic kiss on the cheek.  “What are <em>you</em> doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m here for a friend’s birthday,” Auston said.</p><p> </p><p>“Anybody I know?” Serena asked.  Fred could see the rest of her group of friends approaching them.  He held his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he said sharply.  Auston knew better than to mention Bee’s name in front of girls like this, after what happened.  Not that he ever did, though, because Auston was somewhat protective of Bee too and didn’t want these types of girls even knowing <em>about</em> her.  “What are <em>you</em> doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>Serena shrugged her shoulders.  “Just had a feeling that I should be out tonight,” she said, her eyes flashing towards Fred.  “Hey Freddie.”  Fred nodded towards her as he took another sip of his drink.  He didn’t even bother.  When her friends approached them, he clocked out altogether.  Serena got the hint.  “Auston, you remember Jessy and Rachel and Loren?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey ladies,” Auston winked at them, not remembering them at all. </p><p> </p><p>“Catch you later,” Fred said quickly into Auston’s ear, attempting to get up from his seat to go and find Bee, Morgan, and Tyler.</p><p> </p><p>Fred saw Auston’s hand come up and hold him down.  “Have you met Loren?”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Are you guys going to take a taxi home?” Bee asked as she clung onto Morgan for dear life.  After dancing the night away at Early Mercy, Fred knew Bee was ready to call it a night.  Auston had tried to convince the manager to keep it open (while Serena hung on his arm, nonetheless), but to no avail.  Special rules couldn’t be made for Auston Matthews.  It was law.  The manager was really sorry.  So everybody decided to call it a night.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, sweetcheeks,” Tyler fumbled around with Auston’s phone.  “Our Uber’s just down the street.”  He looked towards Auston, another ping coming from his phone.  “That girl just texted you five times in a row.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” Auston rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Am I still sleeping over yours?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not cockblocking am I?”</p><p> </p><p>“Far from it.  If you’re over it gives a legitimate reason for her not to follow us home.”</p><p> </p><p>Tyler’s eyes widened.  “I’ll call the cops if I need to.”</p><p> </p><p>“Freddie?” he heard his name called by Bee’s overly sweet voice.  “Freddie how are you getting home?” she asked as she approached him, clinging onto the material of his shirt. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m grabbing an Uber with Auston and Tyler,” he said, holding her in place so she wouldn’t fall over.  He loved seeing Bee like this, if only because she was so poised and in control of herself 99% of the time.  He loved seeing her let loose. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you going home?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you going to be <em>safe</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred giggled at her tone of voice.  “Yes Bee.  I’ll be safe.  I don’t know many people who would jump a six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-forty-pound man.  In an Uber.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you always look so <em>expensive</em>,” she said.  He also loved that Bee had no filter.  “You always dress so nice and wear such expensive things and look put together and I once got told by this lady that people look for people who look rich because --”</p><p> </p><p>“Bee --”</p><p> </p><p>“Because it means they have money and did you know that thieves will actually target people who have sleeve tattoos because it means they have a lot of money if it means they can get all that work done?  So Auston has to be careful too.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred couldn’t help but laugh as he saw, in his peripheral vision, their Uber come up along the curb.  Tyler was waving his arms like one of those flag guys on the tarmacs outside of planes.  “I’ll make sure Auston is safe, Bee.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, you big boy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright!  Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” Tyler yelled from the car.  Fred gave one last ‘Happy Birthday’ and kiss on the cheek to Bee before shoving himself into the backseat (why, oh why didn’t they order an SUV?  His legs were going to cramp so bad), pulling an almost-drunk Auston in with him, and ordering Tyler to take the front seat (it should have been him taking the front seat, because, you know, leg room.  Tyler was 5’9”.  He could fit in the trunk.) so they could get on with it. </p><p> </p><p>Because they had ordered the Uber from Auston’s phone, the driver was bringing them to Auston’s address.  Fred made sure to tell him right from the get-go that he would need to make two stops.  The driver complied easily. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you like any of them?” Auston asked as he leaned awkwardly into the middle section of the backseat, looking at Fred with beady eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Like any of who?” Fred asked.  He overheard Tyler making awkward conversation with the Uber driver from the front seat, telling him his name was Inigo Montoya a la <em>Princess Bride</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Loren thought you were hot.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh for fuck sakes,” Freddie sighed.  “Auston--”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Get over her</em>,” Auston said authoritatively.  “She’s not gonna appear out of thin air, Fred.  She’s not just gonna appear in a Starbucks while you’re ordering coffee.  <em>Loren</em> is a <em>real person</em>,” he emphasized.  “With lips, and boobs – nice ones – and--”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Auston</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will you at least just <em>think</em> about it?” Auston asked.  “I hate seeing you so pissy.  You’re Frederik fucking Andersen dude.  You should be having every God damn girl in this city if you wanted.”</p><p> </p><p>On the one hand, Auston had a point.  Fred hated to admit it, but he did.  Maybe he <em>was</em> too hung up on this.  Maybe he was over-the-top about his search, about his constant thinking about her.  Maybe it <em>wasn’t</em> meant to be, and he was just holding onto a dream that didn’t need holding on to; a dream that needed to stay unfulfilled, undone, incomplete.  Maybe he was trying to force fate – the last thing anybody should do. </p><p> </p><p>Fred took a deep breath as they felt the car pull up to the curb.  Out the window, Fred could see the façade of Auston’s apartment building.  “I’ll think about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Auston smiled mischievously before winking.  “Atta boy,” he pulled himself up, opening the door to the car.  “Her Instagram is at lorenxoxo.  Thank you kindly, sir,” he directed to the Uber driver, saluting him dramatically.  “Slip into her DMs.”</p><p> </p><p>“Goodnight Auston,” Fred dismissed him.  Fred watched as Tyler and Auston stumbled their way into Auston’s building, getting inside safely.  The car had been quiet from a lack of music, but as he saw Tyler open the door, the opening notes of a guitar riff began to play over the stereo. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Fred heard the back door opposite his side of the car open, and a body slipped into the backseat beside him, closing the door once they were in.  The first thing he noticed was the abundance of thick, luxurious hair, styled in old Hollywood waves, cascading down the back and side profile, obstructing the view of her face.  Then, he noticed the outfit: a loose, spaghetti strap, silk v-neck top, lazily tucked into tight, seamless black pants, and strappy black heels. </p><p> </p><p>“Take me to Stewart Street, please,” the woman said to the driver.  Her voice was <em>off</em>, somehow, but Fred couldn’t quite put his finger on it.</p><p> </p><p>“Ma’am – I – I already have a passenger.  I--”</p><p> </p><p>“Stewart Street, <em>please</em>,” she begged, and Fred could hear in her voice that she was crying.</p><p> </p><p>He looked up.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Aleida Casillas was crying.  <em>Again</em>.  She felt like she had been crying for months, that her tear ducts were getting their own workout now for how often she used them.  She cried in bed.  She cried in the shower.  She cried in her car.  She cried in her Ubers.  She cried in restaurants.  She cried in restaurant bathrooms.  She cried at her parents’ house.  She cried at her sister’s house.  She cried in her own house.  She cried on her couch.  She cried underneath a blanket.</p><p> </p><p>She cried alone. </p><p> </p><p>And right now, she needed to get into the privacy of her own home so she could cry there.  But she’d have to cry in the back of an Uber to get there.</p><p> </p><p>As she walked down King Street, she saw an Uber – she knew, thanks to the sticker on the back windshield – pull up and let out two drunken men who scurried into the glass condo building.  She ran towards the car as fast as her heels could carry her before it could drive away.  She opened the backseat door and slipped in, closing it behind her. </p><p> </p><p>“Take me to Stewart Street, please,” Aleida said to the driver.  She could hear the cracks in her own voice and hoped to God the driver didn’t make some sort of comment about it.  She didn’t think she’d be able to handle it.  She <em>really</em> didn’t think she could sob any harder at the back of an Uber more so than she had been doing the last few months.  Uber drivers in Toronto probably had her on their radar.</p><p> </p><p>“Ma’am – I – I already have a passenger.  I--”</p><p> </p><p>“Stewart Street, <em>please</em>,” she begged, looking down at her feet, her feet in their strappy heels, so she could wipe away her tears before the driver could know she was crying.  She wasn’t really listening to him.  She didn’t really care about what he was saying, truthfully, the other passenger be damned.  Turn it into an UberPool – whatever needed to happen for her to get home.  She’d even pay for the other passenger’s fare.  They could live all the way out in Scarborough.  Mississauga.  Aurora.  Newmarket.  <em>She didn’t care</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit.”</p><p> </p><p>She looked up.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Fred was going to pass out. </p><p> </p><p>Her.</p><p> </p><p>It was <em>her</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He was pretty sure that his mouth was gaping open; that he looked like a complete idiot at the other end of the backseat, but his mind couldn’t process what his eyes were seeing fast enough.  The rich, dark brown hair.  The perfectly tanned and contoured skin as smooth and flawless as glass.  The dominant eyebrows that framed her face.  The perfectly cut cheekbones blushed and highlighted.  The lips, full and bow-shaped, painted with a neutral pink instead of the daring red he’d seen so many moons ago. </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes with their striking hazel irises, were staring directly into his soul.  Again.</p><p> </p><p>She was <em>here</em>. </p><p> </p><p>In the car. </p><p> </p><p>Crying <em>again</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Fred,” his name escaped her lips quietly, the tears immediately stopping.  She was just as shocked as he was, apparently.  Because, really, what were the chances?  To be going home at the same time, to get into the same time…</p><p> </p><p>“It’s you,” he said, not knowing what he was saying.  His brain was still trying to process everything, and it was doing a shit job. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ma’am, you’re going to have to leave the vehic--”</p><p> </p><p>“No no, it’s fine,” Fred said quickly, making eye contact with the driver in the rearview mirror, waving him off.  “Take her to Stewart Street.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sure?”</p><p> </p><p>“Positive,” Fred said without even looking at him.  Soon, he felt the gear shift into drive and the driver pull away from the curb.</p><p> </p><p>The girl had begun to wipe the tears away from her face delicately, trying to mask her condition.  As if Fred didn’t catch it.  He watched her for a few moments as she stared straight ahead as to not make eye contact with him, not knowing what to say at all.  What <em>could</em> he say?  That he’d been obsessed with her?  That he’d badgered his teammates and strangers about her?  But before he could overthink it, his mind decided to say the one thing that was true.  “I’ve been trying to find you.”</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t bother to look at him, still trying to collect her tears, her emotions.  “You have?  Why?”</p><p> </p><p>He had to be honest.  “Your eyes,” he admitted.  It was at that point that she looked at him again, the hazel irises stabbing him.  “Your eyes are so sad.”</p><p> </p><p>They were both hyperaware of the verb he used.  <em>Are</em>.  Because they definitely <em>were</em> sad then, and they were sad now.  For a moment, however quick it was, there was an acknowledgement on her face; it soon turned to anger – brows furrowed and lips pursed, looking away again.  “That’s none of your business.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred acquiesced.  He knew that.  Maybe that was too forward of him.  “What’s your name, then?  I – I need to know your name.”</p><p> </p><p>She shot him a glance.  Against her better judgement, she answered him.  “Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>“How did you know who I was…am,” he corrected himself. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida gave him another look.  “Everybody knows who you are, Fred.  Goalie extraordinaire of the Maple Leafs.  Girls in this city would line up outside your bedroom if only you’d let them.”</p><p> </p><p>It was Fred’s turn to give her a look.  That wasn’t true at all.  Well, not to him.  He could still go around some places in the city without getting recognized – especially when he was alone.  He mostly just kept to himself.  When he was with Auston it was a different story, since Auston’s reputation preceded him.  “Why don’t I know who you are?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you just weren’t looking hard enough,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>That was a joke.  If she only knew what he had been up to.  <em>If only</em> she knew.  “Why aren’t you answering my questions?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why do keep asking them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I want to know who you are,” Fred hit back, more firmly this time.  Didn’t she get that?  Didn’t she get the reason why the first words out of his mouth were <em>‘Holy shit’</em> was because of exactly that?</p><p> </p><p>“Ma’am, we’re here.  Stewart Street,” the driver said from the front seat.  “Wasn’t a log drive.”  He put the car in park and unlocked the doors, the sound dramatically filling the air.</p><p> </p><p>She took once last look at Fred as she opened the door.  “My name is Aleida.  That’s all you will need to know more.”</p><p> </p><p>And then she was gone.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Frederik found himself riding the elevator up to the 31<sup>st</sup> floor of the St. Regis Hotel.  The elevator attendant marveled at his size, trying to hide the fact that he was staring.  The other women in the elevator – four of them – stared too, trying not to giggle to each other.  But Fred could see their eyes.  He could see their eyes dart towards him and then to one another, smirks appearing on their faces, stifled little giggles escaping them as the elevator rushed up. </p><p> </p><p>When the elevator pinged, and the doors opened, Fred found himself at Louix Louis, the luxurious, gilded bar that had Torontonians salivating at the mouth.  It was the most luxurious of the luxurious.  Lavish.  Opulent.  You name it.  It was everything people loved about indulgence.  Everything people loved about exclusivity; about standing in line and not getting in; about calling for reservations and being denied; about watching people, seeing people, wanting to be seen, waiting to be seen. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey Fred,” the hostess winked immediately as he approached her podium.  “Auston’s been waiting.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” he responded shyly as she grabbed a menu from beneath her.</p><p> </p><p>“Follow me, sweetie.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred shook his head and chuckled to himself as she turned her back to him, leading him down the bar and to one of the booths in the back where he could already see Auston waiting.  And of course, like the sky is blue, Auston was wearing a beanie.  He was the only person in Toronto who would wear a beanie in Louix Louis.</p><p> </p><p>“’Bout time,” Auston smiled as Fred shuffled into the opposite side of the booth. </p><p> </p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Serena, Jessy, Rachel, and Loren are on their way,” Auston winked.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t,” Fred deadpanned, thinking this was just going to be a quiet night.  He should have known better.  He should have known better to accept an invitation by Auston to go to Louix Louis. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I did,” Auston smiled.  “She’s into you, bro.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who?”</p><p> </p><p>“Loren.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who’s Loren?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, <em>fuck off</em>, Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred rolled his eyes.  He couldn’t care less.  He decided to one up Auston; to tell him what he wanted to tell him ever since he agreed to go out with him tonight.  “I found her, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>“Found who?” Auston sipped at his drink.</p><p> </p><p>“The girl.  <em>Aleida</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Auston almost spit out his drink.  “<em>What</em>?!”</p><p> </p><p>Fred nodded his head.  “She got into the Uber the night of Bee’s birthday once you and Tyler left.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re fucking telling me--”</p><p> </p><p>“Aaaaaaustttooooooonnn!” a perky, overzealous voice cut their conversation way too short.  From the opposite end of the bar, where Fred was let in, he saw the same group of girls from Bee’s birthday make their way towards them.  Their designer purses hung on chains against their shoulders as their long hair, perfectly blow-dried at some salon in Yorkville, moved with their scurried movements.  At Louix Louis, you <em>wanted</em> to be seen in the same booth as Auston Matthews. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey heeeeey,” Auston smiled, scooting over to make room while the four girls entered all on his side.  The girl Fred could only assume was Loren eyed him like a hawk, the waitress approaching the table not long after to get everybody’s drink orders.</p><p> </p><p> Auston exchanged formalities with the ladies as Fred stayed silent, but he could tell that Auston was pressed about the news Fred had just revealed.  For all Auston seemed like he didn’t care about things and was generally aloof, he could be a snoopy bitch.  A <em>really</em> snoopy bitch.  And Fred could tell Auston wanted to talk about it so bad.</p><p> </p><p>Fred thought he would wait.</p><p> </p><p>But he didn’t. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey girls, can you help me with something?” he preempted quickly.  “Actually, it’s more so helping Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s eyes widened.  “N – No--”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you girls know about a girl named <em>Al-ay-da</em>?” he stressed her name – improperly – eyeing Fred quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my God.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oh my God</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my <em>GAWD</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida Casillas?!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my <em>God</em>, are you <em>joking</em>?” Serena piped up over the other three.  “There is <em>no way</em> Aleida Casillas didn’t bite Fred’s head off if she met him.  That girl is a fucking cannibal.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What</em>?  Listen, all I wanna know is the details,” Auston held his hands up innocently.</p><p> </p><p>“What is there to say about Aleida Casillas,” Jessy quipped, and Fred felt like she was going to break out into the Regina George monologue from <em>Mean Girls</em>.  “You know who her mom is, right?” she directed at Auston, but looked between him and Fred.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I obviously don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Dr. Casillas – she’s, like, the best plastic surgeon in the city.  The <em>country</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Girls who go to her say she does <em>the best</em> work,” Loren contributed.  Fred so desperately wanted to ask if she had gotten anything done for her to say something like that, but he of course decided against it.  “It all looks so natural.”</p><p> </p><p>“And her dad – he’s like, the best cardiologist in the country,” Serena added.  “I’m not exaggerating.  My cousin in med school once watched him perform a quadruple bypass <em>and</em> a ten hour ventricular restoration.  He’s even done heart surgery on a former Prime Minister or whatever.  He’s been honoured for his work all over the world.  It’s insane.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not to mention the family is <em>loaded</em>.  She’s got everything anybody could ever want.  I mean, Aleida thinks she owns the city,” Jessy said.</p><p> </p><p>“Well…she kinda <em>does</em>,” Rachel said something besides <em>oh my God</em>.  “She’s got all the money in the world, she knows everybody worth knowing, but like, she’s <em>friends</em> with them too, and people want her to wear their clothes or whatever, or come to their bars, or attend their charity events.  I mean, it’s mainly because of who her parents are, but still.  She sings, sometimes, <em>I think</em>, but I think mostly she just shows up places--”</p><p> </p><p>“--she’s a model--”</p><p> </p><p>“—she’s a model, and she’s pretty, and people are, like, <em>scared</em> of her, because I heard one time she, like, ruined the career of some up-and-coming influencer – or was it a designer? – but she ruined his career cause that person, like, didn’t dress one of her friends for an event or something and she went <em>ballistic</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s a cannibal, like I said,” Serena said assertively.  “She’s a huge bitch.  Why would you want to know <em>anything</em> about her?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred was shocked, to say the least.  The person he’d met – if you could even call it that – in the Shopper’s Drug Mart that night, and the person he’d seen in the backseat of the Uber <em>could not</em> have been the same person.  There was no way.  There was no way that crying girl was a ‘cannibal’.  There was no way.  The family stuff could be true, sure – who was he to question that – but the other stuff?  Ruining a career?  Impossible.  It wasn’t that Fred thought they were lying.  But maybe…maybe they had the wrong girl.  How many girls could be named Aleida?  Maybe they were…embellishing.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.  Why <em>would</em> you want to know anything about her?” Loren asked, eyeing Fred like a hawk again.</p><p> </p><p>Fred tried not to make it seem like he was physically uncomfortable every time she looked at him, but he was getting physically uncomfortable.  “She just performed at an event we went to,” Fred explained briefly. </p><p> </p><p>“I wouldn’t even think of like, doing anything,” Serena took charge again.  “She’ll rip your head off.”</p><p> </p><p>Well Fred knew where she stood.</p><p> </p><p>“Enough about Aleida,” Auston held his hands up again, looking past everybody at the waitress that was bringing their drinks to the table.  “What are we up to tonight?” he smirked.</p><p> </p><p>Fred clocked out.  He didn’t care about anything that was being done or said around him – he didn’t care what those girls were saying at all.  He didn’t care.  He didn’t care.  He didn’t care. </p><p> </p><p>Casillas.</p><p> </p><p>Her last name was Casillas.</p><p> </p><p>He got up abruptly, asking a passing waiter where the washrooms were.  Auston was too entranced by the girls to care, so Fred had no qualms leaving.  As he made his way towards the washrooms, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.  He typed out her name into the Google search bar .  ‘Aleda Casiyas’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Do you mean <strong>Aleida Casillas</strong>?’</em></p><p> </p><p>Well fine then. </p><p> </p><p>There she was on his phone screen.  It wasn’t like she had a Wikipedia page or anything, but perhaps even more important, especially in this city, was that she had her own tag on the <em>Toronto Life</em> website.  The <em>Narcity</em> tag was there too, but that wasn’t as important.  He clicked on the <em>Toronto Life</em> link. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Aleida Casillas, wearing vintage Jean Paul Gaultier, at Soho House, Toronto.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>What Aleida Casillas wore to the premier of Guillermo Del Toro’s new film.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Aleida Casillas is the face for emerging Toronto fashion designer Guinevere Jones.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I’d be careful if I were you,” he heard an all-too-familiar voice behind him.  “Loren’s barely turned 18.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred spun around dramatically. </p><p> </p><p>There she was behind him. </p><p> </p><p>He almost couldn’t believe his eyes.  <em>Almost</em>.  But if she could sneak into the backseat of his Uber, she could appear at Louix Louis.  She could appear anywhere.  And of course, she looked flawless.  Makeup flawless, hair flawless, all of it.  If she really <em>was</em> a model, he could see why.  “What are you doing here?” Fred asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Who isn’t at Louix Louis on a Friday night?” she countered. </p><p> </p><p>Fred’s head whipped back and forth between the direction of the booth and Aleida standing in front of him.  He was willing to ditch this entire scene.  “Are you ready to talk?”</p><p> </p><p>“About what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why you were crying in a Shopper’s Drug Mart at two in the morning four months ago,” Fred deadpanned.  “And why you were crying before you stole an Uber?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida’s face dropped.  Whatever confidence she had in her power and persuasion over Fred left her and was replaced with something else – that something else, Fred didn’t know yet.  But it wasn’t confidence, and it wasn’t self-assurance, and it sure wasn’t was the cheekiness she’d displayed in any and all interaction she’d had with him (however brief) up until this point.  “You don’t want to get into it,” she said, her voice soft.  And for the first time, emotional.</p><p> </p><p>“I do.”</p><p> </p><p>She looked at him.  “Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can we get out of here?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida took a deep breath.  She tugged on the hem of his shirt as she started walking away. </p><p> </p><p>He followed her.</p><p> </p><p>She made an abrupt stop at the booth.  When Auston saw her, he didn’t think anything of it, but when he saw Fred behind her, his eyes went wide.  All the girls stopped talking and looked like a ghost had just appeared in front of them. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ohmigod</em> Aleida, hi,” Serena said first. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida smiled at her, but it wasn’t politely.  She focused her attention back to Auston.  “I’m taking Fred.”  She didn’t give him an option.</p><p> </p><p>“Th-that’s cool,” he couldn’t say anything else to her. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida looked back at the girls, specifically Serena.  “I’m sorry, who are you?”</p><p> </p><p>Serena’s jaw almost dropped from embarrassment.  It was clear to Fred that despite calling her a cannibal a mere ten minutes ago, Serena would butter herself up if it meant Aleida would eat her.  “It’s…it’s me!  Serena Da Costa.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida’s eyes flashed.  “Oh!  Right!  From my mom’s clinic!” she exclaimed, her surprise feigned and her polite tone just as fake.  She pointed at Serena.  “You came in with…” she went through the girls with her pointed finger, stopping on Loren.  “You!  How was your eighteenth birthday in June?  Looks like your parents allowed you to get the boobs you wanted.”</p><p> </p><p>Loren looked absolutely mortified.  “I--”</p><p> </p><p>“And your new lips,” Aleida focused on Serena again.  “Isn’t my mom just <em>so great</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Now Serena looked absolutely mortified.  But it was Auston who looked ready to crawl into a hole and die since she mentioned the eighteenth birthday party.  “Uh--”</p><p> </p><p>“Anyways, see you guys later.  I’m sure one of you will want a nose job soon,” she winked at the group before walking off.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“So why were you crying?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred was on Aleida’s couch now, after having followed her home by foot, walking for half an hour.  Half an hour along King Street West, illuminated lights and flashing storefronts lighting the way.  Eager clubbers spilling onto the streets tried to do their part to distract Fred or block him from following, but he was like a man possessed.  His eyes were like a hawk’s on her.  There was no way he was losing her again in a crowd full of people on King Street.</p><p> </p><p>They passed the Shopper’s Drug Mart. </p><p> </p><p>It was when they happened upon a row of expansive, luxurious, modern townhomes, coincidentally just a few blocks from his building that Fred began to realize that maybe the things those girls were saying were right, or at least partly true.  But the other thing he realized made him want to scream.  He had searched for her for <em>months</em> and she was practically just a few steps away from him?  He understood the universe worked in mysterious ways, but this was just plain cruel.  That she had been so close to him, <em>physically</em>, and he had no idea.  It tore him up. </p><p> </p><p>They’d gone inside.  She took off her heels.  She’d opened a bottle of wine and poured it into two glasses before standing at opposites ends of her expansive kitchen island, staring at each other, waiting for the other to speak.  It was Fred who obviously broke first.  It was Fred who couldn’t wait any longer; who wanted to get to the bottom of why her eyes were – <em>are</em> – so sad that night, and in the Uber, and tonight.  Because behind her façade, he could see her sadness.  Behind the snarky comments she made towards those girls with Auston, Aleida Casillas was profoundly sad. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She took a deep breath.  “My uh…my old piano instructor – from when I was a kid – she passed away earlier that day,” Aleida revealed, her voice low.</p><p> </p><p>“Were you close?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I loved her more than I loved my parents when I was a kid.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred was shocked to hear such a statement come out of her mouth.  Considering that he just learned who her parents were, it was…different for him to hear such a thing.  “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugged her shoulders.  “She listened,” she said simply.  “No-one ever listens.  No-one ever…no-one ever listens.  To me.  But she did.  She listened.  More than anyone.  And she saw me."</p><p> </p><p>“She <em>saw</em> you?”</p><p> </p><p>“She saw me for who I was and not what she wanted me to be,” Aleida continued.  “She was the best.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a moment of silence between them.  Fred was unsure of what to say.  He knew he wanted her to open up to him, but he wasn’t expecting…this.  Truthfully, he was expecting something completely different.  A breakup with a boyfriend, or at least a fight.  A disagreement with a friend.  A lost job opportunity or a firing.  But not a death of a childhood piano teacher.  “I just couldn’t get over your eyes – the sadness in your eyes.  And it’s still there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Listen.  I don’t know what those girls told you about me tonight.  And I didn’t mean to make you scared that night when I called you Fred and knew who you were.  I just…you made it obvious that you didn’t see me in there.  Nobody <em>did.</em>  And that was a stark reminder to me of her being gone.  Anyway…there…there’s a lot going on right now, and nobody cares.”</p><p> </p><p>He could tell she knew she was rambling; that she stopped herself from revealing too much.  He persisted.  “Nobody cares?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nobody <em>fucking</em> cares,” she stressed before taking a long sip of wine.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, can you tell me a bit about yourself?” he asked.  Her eyes flashed at him, her brows furrowing.  “So I can get to know you?  So I can care?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure those girls told you enough about me,” she commented.  “Whatever people say I am, I am.  Isn’t that how all this works?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, and you know that,” he said.  “You apparently know all this information about me and about those girls with Auston, but why don’t I know anything about you?  Just be honest.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well what’d those girls say about me?”</p><p> </p><p>He paused before taking a deep breath.  “Cannibal.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cannibal?”</p><p> </p><p>“Serena said you were a cannibal.  Your parents – doctors.  Your family – loaded.  All the money in the world.  That you’re a model.  A bitch.  That you ruined someone’s career because they wouldn’t dress your friend for an event,” he listed off.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida’s eyes narrowed at the last bit.  Her tone was as assertive as the click of her heels on the sidewalk on the way here.  “That designer attempted to sexually assault one of my best friends, so you’re damn right I ruined his career.  And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”</p><p> </p><p>So she was misunderstood.  Or at least her life was.  Fred still didn’t know.  “But what’s the truth?”</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t there a bit of truth in everything?” she asked rhetorically. </p><p> </p><p>“You tell me.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.  “Everything they told you about me is true.  Doctor parents.  Loaded.  All the money in the world.  A bitch.  A cannibal.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yet you cry about your piano teacher dying,” he commented.  Her eyes shot daggers at him at his comment.  For a second, he was sure he was going to die right then and there.  “You’re hiding behind this tough exterior and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude but I think you care more than anyone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you <em>ever</em> use that against me ever again,” she snapped back at him.  “I <em>do</em> fucking care, okay?  <em>Everybody</em> fucking cares, and if they say they don’t they’re liars.  That’s why Serena was practically salivating at the mouth when she saw me and couldn’t handle it when I pretended not to know who she was.  She’ll call me a cannibal but if I’m the shark she’s that fish that attaches itself and sucks the bacteria off my body.”  Her tone was so scathing, Fred had never heard anything like it.  She paused.  “You want to know the truth?  Here’s your truth.  I’m Cuban-Canadian.  My dad is one of the best cardiologists in the entire world and my mother is the best plastic surgeon in the country.  I’ve got an older sister named Alejandra who’s a plastic surgeon too.  I grew up in Rosedale.  I went to private school.  I received the best education.  I have millions and millions of dollars at my disposal whenever I want it and get to spend it <em>however</em> I want it.  People ask me to model their clothes, to go to their events, to say nice things about them.  They want me to sing and play piano and give this <em>air</em> that their event is high-end and exclusive and luxurious just because I’m there – because my presence apparently means something to a lot of people in the city.  And every single one of those people – my dad, mom, sister, her husband, everybody who wants something from me – they look at me, <em>all the time</em>, but they don’t <em>see</em> me.  And for once in my life…for once in my life, I just want to be <em>seen</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred listened.  It was all he could do as she went into her speech.  There were no words of comfort that could be said to her, no grand gestures that could be done to make her feel better.  He barely knew her – really.  He <em>barely</em> knew her.  He only felt a connection to her; to her and her sad eyes, to her tears, to the image of her cathartic crying at two in the morning in a drugstore neither of them had any business of being in at that hour. </p><p> </p><p>So instead, he stared at her.  He nodded his head in understanding.  Because he <em>did</em> understand, to some extent – how people in their lives look but they never really see.  It was something that bound them together.  In the vast city of Toronto, from the bright lights of King Street West to the luxurious décor of Louix Louis, to the couch they found themselves sitting on sipping on an expensive wine, it connected them.</p><p> </p><p>He took a deep breath.  “So you play piano then?  And you sing?” he asked.  Aleida nodded her head.  He couldn’t read her emotion as she took another sip of wine.  “Can I hear or see you play sometime?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred nodded.  It would take a while for her to open up more.  To show him more of herself, to let her guard and her attitude down.  For her to allow him to <em>see</em> her.</p><p> </p><p>But he’d be there for it.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You <em>found</em> her?” Bee’s eyes went wide at Fred’s confession.  He’d asked her out for coffee while he knew Morgan would be at the gym (he should be at the gym too, really, but he needed to talk to Bee about this), and naturally she agreed to go.  And naturally, she picked a cute and quaint but private coffee shop, somewhere along Queen Street West, as the meeting destination.  He didn’t care where they ended up – they could have gone to a Starbucks for all her cared – he just needed to speak to her.  She was the one woman he wanted to talk to about this. </p><p> </p><p>“I found her,” Fred nodded his head.  “The night of your birthday, she ended up getting into my Uber.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What</em>?!”</p><p> </p><p>“And then Auston and I went out to Louix Louis, and she was there too.  So we left together and we went over to her place to talk.”</p><p> </p><p>Bee had a physical reaction to the news, holding her arms up like she was asking him to stop, shaking her head and body as she pretended to fall off her chair.  “Hold the phone,” she said.  “Okay, start from the beginning.  And tell me <em>everything</em>.  Don’t leave out any details.”</p><p> </p><p>So he did.  He told her everything – every action, every word said, everything he knew about her: who her parents were and who she was; how she embarrassed the girls at the bar and how he followed her home; her big speech (it was engrained in his memory, practically word for word, and every time he thought about it he remembered something different about it).  And Bee listened to every word.  Her eyebrows got higher and higher with every revelation Fred told her, every new bit of information she learned.  She even whipped out her phone to look her up, and saw the same pictures as Fred did when he did the same.  She agreed that she was stunning, beautiful, that it was unfair how good she looked.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you spoken to her since then?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>Fred shrugged his shoulders.  “We’ve been texting.  She gave me her number.  But it’s always been pretty elusive.  She thinks…well, <em>I</em> think she thinks she needs to put up a front, or like, a persona of who people thinks she is.  Like she has this image in her mind of what people think her to be and then she acts on that.  But I don’t…that’s not the real her.  At least not to me.  I can see right through it, even though she doesn’t want me to.”</p><p> </p><p>Bee nodded her head.  “What she said to you about people looking at her but not really seeing her – that’s really profound, Fred.  She’s clearly going through a lot – <em>has</em> been going through a lot.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I don’t get it,” Fred continued.</p><p> </p><p>“Looking and seeing are two completely different things.  And people can not be seen in different ways, Fred,” Bee explained.  “Have you ever seen the movie The Breakfast Club?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you remember Andrew and Allison?  The jock and the basket case?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you remember that scene they had together, where Allison confesses that her problems at home are really bad, and when Andrew asks <em>‘What’d they do to you?’</em> she responds, <em>‘They ignore me’</em>?  And Andrew understands, he completely understands one hundred percent, and he’s visibly emotional and nodding his head and it looks like he’s about to cry?”  Fred waited for Bee to continue.  “Both of their parents didn’t <em>see</em> them – that’s why they were able to sympathize with each other.  That’s why Andrew was on the verge of tears.  Because they saw themselves in the other.  Allison’s parents didn’t see her because they ignored her.  But Andrew – Andrew’s parents were <em>so</em> involved in his life that they completely saw <em>over</em> him.  And that’s ignoring him too.  They were <em>too</em> focused and <em>too</em> invested in his life and didn’t see him for who he was as an individual – they just saw him as an extension of them.  They didn’t allow him to make decisions on his own.  That’s just as bad.”</p><p> </p><p>This was the reason he needed to talk to Bee, because she’d make his head explode with the profoundness yet simplicity of her logic.  He loved her because of it.  He absolutely fucking <em>loved</em> her.  Her life experience gave her the best insight into every situation – at least for him.  Morgan was lucky to have her, but Morgan knew that; he kissed the ground she walked on.  “Yeah…yeah, I get it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Even Morgan,” she continued.  “He didn’t tell me at first he was a player for the Leafs – you know that.  That night I found out, he told me he liked how I didn’t talk to him like he was <em>Toronto Maple Leaf Morgan Rielly</em>.  He liked that I saw him as just some guy. He had never been seen like that up until that point.  I’m sure you’re in a similar boat.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am,” Fred nodded his head. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s hard when people only see you <em>one</em> way, and don’t see you as this complex person capable of like, different identities.  I bet she feels the same way,” Bee lamented.  “I bet she’s the furthest thing from a cannibal – or if she ever is, she has good reason.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred nodded his head again.  He leaned forward, clutching the coffee cup in his giant hands.  “Listen.  Will you meet her?”</p><p> </p><p>He could see the slight shock in Bee’s eyes at the request, but it soon turned.  “Yeah.  Yeah, of course.  I mean, if she wants to.  Don’t force her or anything.  When?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know.  She’s so hot and cold, I don’t think she’d be cool with showing up at a Leafs event or a game.  But you’ll meet her?  You and Mo?”</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Aleida didn’t know why she was speaking to Fred.  She didn’t know why she <em>kept</em> speaking to Fred.  She didn’t know why she answered his texts again and again.  And again.  And <em>again</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But just as he was drawn to her so much that he practically scoured every soul in the city for a semblance of just her name after one chance encounter in the middle of the night, she was draw to him, too.  His silence, which juxtaposed her noise.  His introspectiveness, which juxtaposed her emptiness.  His gentility, which juxtaposed her rigidity. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t know why he wanted anything to do with her.  She didn’t know what was wrong with him.</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t the best at making new friends, and that was an understatement.  Perhaps it was because she was a bit brash, definitely arrogant, certainly had an attitude.  She knew what she was like.  She didn’t need anybody telling her.  Maybe she rubbed people the wrong way (she definitely rubbed people the wrong way) – at least <em>some</em> people.  She had friends.  She had people who genuinely liked her, who were loyal to her, who stuck with her through thick and thin.</p><p> </p><p>Fred seemed to be sticking.</p><p> </p><p>Again, she didn’t know why.  She wasn’t the nicest person to Serena and the other girls – whatever their names were – when she saw them with Auston.  She rejected him when he asked to see her perform live.  She was abrasive – <em>lightly</em> abrasive – during their encounters.  But he kept texting.  And texting.  And texting.  It was like he didn’t care.  Maybe he didn’t.  Maybe he was somehow so mesmerized by her he completely looked over it. </p><p> </p><p>When he knocked on her townhouse door that night, she let him in with ease.  She poured two glasses of wine and sat down on the couch with him and took in how truly big his frame was.  And Fred, for what it was worth, took in her frame too; her tight black turtleneck tucked into her fitted jeans showing off her ample breasts and just about every other asset she had – her entire body, really.  Her asset was her entire body.  She was made known of that.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you wear clothes like that all the time?  Aren’t you uncomfortable?” he asked as he gave her an up-down.</p><p> </p><p>It was only then she noticed his clothes – a comfy looking hoodie and trackpants.  God, they looked like tailored dress pants.  <em>What in the world was he doing?</em>  She knew he was big but <em>surely</em> he could shop in one of those big and tall stores instead of getting custom tailored trackpants to fit him.  “I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you dress like that all the time?”</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty much.  Why does it matter?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred shrugged his shoulders.  “Just seems uncomfortable.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, that is generally how I make people feel, right?” she tried to joke as she took her first sip of her wine.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t make me feel uncomfortable,” Fred said.  “Far from it, actually.”</p><p> </p><p>She arched her brow.  “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred nodded his head.  “I don’t know why you think you would.  I have to deal with greasy eBay men wanting my autograph every time I walk out a door.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida couldn’t help but snort.  A real genuine laugh escaped her.  She couldn’t believe she did that.  “Not to mention girls who are barely eighteen trying to hook up with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t even get me started,” he shook his head, a wry smile on his face.  “Come on.  Tell me more about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want to know?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re Cuban?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida nodded her head.  He was going right for it, and there was nowhere for her to hide.  “Yeah.  Wasn’t born there though – but I kinda grew up between here and Havana before I went to school.  Both of my parents are from there.  It’s their home, so I get why they wanted to raise my sister and I between here and there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you fluent?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.  Fluent in Spanish <em>and</em> French, actually.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred wiggled his brows.  “Cultured.  Seems like your family still has a lot of connections there still.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was named after Che Guevara’s wife, so you tell me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that true or do you just say that to scare people?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida was taken aback.  He caught her.  “I…”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop trying to play your act around me.  I’m not buying it.”  His tone wasn’t playful or flirty; it wasn’t trying to joke as a means to get her to open up more.  It was curt and direct.  A <em>cut the bullshit</em> that she didn’t know if she could do.  She had been doing it for so long that sometimes, when she thought about it – when she <em>really</em> thought about it when she was at low points – she sometimes forgot where the act stopped and the real her began.  When she was with people she knew, people she trusted, she was more confident about the real her.  But sitting on the couch with Fred didn’t make her…confident in that anymore.  Even though it was clear he could see right through her guise. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not trying to put up an act,” she tried to defend herself meekly. </p><p> </p><p>“Then what is it?”</p><p> </p><p><em>A defense mechanism</em> she wanted to say, but couldn’t.  She shook her head slightly and wondered how she could turn the conversation back around.  He beat her to it, knowing she wouldn’t be able to answer.  Knowing she’d just make some excuse or another deflection.  “You know when you were crying in the Shopper’s Drug Mart?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes…”</p><p> </p><p>“What would you have done if I didn’t bother you?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida thought about it.  She supposed it really <em>was</em> an interesting sight to see a girl like herself crying in a drug store.  “I don’t know.  Probably would have come back here and cried some more.”</p><p> </p><p>“What were you doing there, anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida hesitated.  “I don’t even know.  I think I was just blindly walking through the city trying to feel and find something besides grief and loss.  But I didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about now?”</p><p> </p><p>She shook her head. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you trying to find?” he asked again.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“You said you were walking through the city trying to feel and find something.  Like, what are you trying to find in this world?  From acting the way that you do.  From being how you are.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida paused.  “Myself.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Aleida was taken aback by the offer.  <em>“I want you to meet one of my really good friends, Bee McTavish.”</em>  She was apparently the girlfriend of one of his teammates Morgan; a girl he trusted completely, who he respected and who he thought she would like as a person.  <em>“She isn’t like any of the other wives or girlfriends, especially of the younger guys,”</em> Fred said, and Aleida didn’t know if that was misogynistic or the truth.  <em>“She’s just been through so much shit but she doesn’t let it get to her and I admire her for it.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Aleida was even more taken aback that she agreed to it.  Or that <em>Bee</em> agreed to do it.  She figured Bee and Fred must be incredibly close for him to want Aleida to meet her so…soon.  Fred promised it would be quiet.  That they’d go out for dinner or drinks or something low-key – maybe even something at his place – and that it wouldn’t be this big thing. </p><p> </p><p>So when she finally met Bee, at Buca Yorkville near the back of the restaurant where nobody would bother them, she realized why Fred wanted this. </p><p> </p><p>In a city full of wannabes, of girls desperate to get into bars and desperate to get into clubs and desperate to look good and desperate to pose and desperate to take photos and desperate to get likes and desperate to get attention and desperate to make a name for themselves and desperate to be gossiped about and desperate to be seen and desperate about <em>everything</em>, Bee was a breath of fresh air.  There wasn’t a hint of desperation anywhere on her, following her, preceding her – <em>nothing</em>.  And Aleida could tell.  She had a nose for it. </p><p> </p><p>And when she spoke, Aleida listened.  She hardly did that with anybody that spoke to her, but she did with Bee.  And as she listened, she saw Morgan.  She saw how Morgan looked at Bee like she was the only girl at the table, the only girl at the restaurant, the only girl in the city of Toronto, the province of Ontario, the country of Canada, the continent of North America, the world, the solar system, the Milky Way Galaxy, the universe.  He saw his girlfriend.  He saw her.</p><p> </p><p>She so desperately wanted that.</p><p> </p><p>“You should come to a game one of these days,” Bee smiled at her as the boys drifted off into their own conversation momentarily.  Her offer was so sincere and so warm.  “We can grab a drink one night after I get off work and then head over.”</p><p> </p><p>How could Aleida say no?</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>@aleidacasillas (known Toronto socialite) is dating Freddie Andersen.  Saw them together with Morgan Rielly and Bee McTavish at Buca Yorkville when I was on a date with my boyfriend.  They were sitting near the back.</em>
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  <em>Yup.  Ally Casillas and Freddie Andersen are def a thing.  I served them.  Seemed like just fuckbuddies tho.  They didn’t give off the couple vibe.  Wouldn’t be surprised, tbh, since Ally is known to be a MASSIVE bitch.  I have no clue what Fred sees in her.</em>
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  <em>If the rumours are true that Freddie A and Aleida Casillas are seeing each other, Fred’s gonna get his heart ripped out of his chest.  Girl is a fucking cannibal.  She ruins careers.</em>
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  <em>Aleida Casillas is the most vapid, most self-obsessed, most bitchy woman I’ve ever met.  She’s a known Toronto socialite who rules the social scene.  If it’s true, I have no hope for him anymore.  Can’t believe he’s hanging out with someone so downright mean.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Aleida showed up to Scotiabank Arena in head to toe Yves Saint Laurent.  She knew she’d be overdressed, but she didn’t really care.  And the looks she got from the wives and girlfriends just fueled her; she wished she had dressed in something with even more flair to shove the message down their throats.  What was the message?  She wasn’t even sure.  She just knew she was making one. </p><p> </p><p>She uploaded a story to Instagram.</p><p> </p><p>She watched the game; watched as the wives and girlfriends shuffled through and flashed their designer bags; listened as Bee spoke and struck up good conversation with her.  There was wine and there were snacks and during intermission, Bee told her how she probably wasn’t supposed to say this, but Fred had looked for her, looked for her for a long time, and she was glad that the universe conspired to bring them together the night of her birthday in that Uber. </p><p> </p><p>When Bee went to the washroom, Aleida met Stephanie Lachance and Madisyn Dunne and Keltie Auerbach and Julia Fitzsimmons – girls.  From <em>Western</em>.  Aleida wanted to spit over her shoulder every time she said that school’s name.  She could tell Steph knew who she was by the way she acted – how her eyes went wide as Bee introduced them before escaping to the washroom and by the way Steph straightened out her back and pushed her Chanel purse forward with her free hand that wasn’t holding a glass of wine.  Aleida couldn’t get over how seriously these girls took a hockey game as a social event.  They would be laughed out of Soho House.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re here with Fred tonight?” Steph asked, taking a sip of her wine.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m here with Bee, actually,” Aleida corrected her.  “She’s the one who invited me.”  She knew Steph only wanted the gossip.</p><p> </p><p>“So Bee’s the one dating Morgan, right?” Keltie whispered, continuing what Aleida assumed to be the conversation the girls were having from before Aleida was introduced.  She loved how Keltie was so overt with her reason to be at the game.  Aleida wondered if Steph would be as open as to admit the reason she brought her friend was to hook her up with a Leaf. </p><p> </p><p>Steph nodded her head.  “They’ve been going steady for a year now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bee’s the one with the thank you note, remember?” Julia chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you note?” Aleida butt in.</p><p> </p><p>“She wrote a <em>thank you note</em> to Masai Ujiri for getting the Leafs tickets to one of the Raptors playoff games against Golden State,” Julia explained.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida furrowed her eyebrows and visibly grimaced at Julia’s tone and the way the words escaped her mouth.  “What’s wrong with a thank you note?  It’s the polite thing to do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you think it’s a little – I don’t know, try hard?” Steph asked.  “Like, we’re the Maple Leafs.  We’re all under the same MLSE umbrella.  Did she really have to write him a thank you note?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>You’re</em> not the Maple Leafs, your boyfriend is,” Aleida clarified for her, probably too harshly.  “Even then – he’s <em>one</em> Maple Leaf.  Don’t people in hockey get traded all the time?”</p><p> </p><p>Steph looked at Aleida like there was a demon emerging from her skull.  “He just signed a seven-year contract.  His AAV is 10.8 million but he’s earning fifteen this year,” Steph clarified for her, as if that explained everything and put Aleida in her place. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida tried not to visibly scoff at the numbers Steph proclaimed, but she found it hard.  She added an eye roll for dramatic effect.  “Okay, so is ten million or fifteen million the threshold for you thinking you’re too good to write a thank you note?  Or you thinking you’re better than everybody else?” she shot back.  “Manners go a long way.  Don’t be mad that Bee has them and you don’t – develop some of your own instead of talking behind her back and maybe you’ll get the attention you so desperately want.”</p><p> </p><p>Steph’s jaw dropped to the floor.  “I’m <em>fine</em>, thank you very much.  There’s no reason for you to be so blatantly rude to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“There is, actually,” Aleida rolled her eyes again, a small smirk playing on her face, “and if you don’t see why then you need to grow up.  I know Western girls aren’t the classiest but you should work to repair that reputation before your friends here leech you dry for all the clout you’re worth to them.”</p><p> </p><p>And with that, Aleida walked away.</p><p> </p><p>When Bee returned from the washroom – taking a little longer than usual, no doubt because Steph stopped her to explain what happened – she sat beside Aleida, the smallest smirk playing on her face.  “So what happened there?” Bee asked.</p><p> </p><p>“You wrote a thank you note to Masai Ujiri?  For a playoff game or something?” Aleida asked, not looking at her, instead choosing to focus on the team spilling out onto the ice again.</p><p> </p><p>From the corner of her eye, she could see Bee smile.  “I feel like that thank you note is going to follow me for the rest of my life,” she commented.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida finally looked at Bee.  She didn’t even care if Steph told her the truth or not.  Aleida knew Steph probably didn’t, because that meant that Steph would have had to admit she and her friends were talking behind Bee’s back.  “Fred’s been asking to see me perform live, so if you and Morgan ever want to tag along with him, you’re more than welcome – and <em>no-one else</em>,” she offered, choosing not to address it.  Bee, for her part, got the hint.  Thinking that Aleida was going to leave it at that, she settled into her seat comfortably.  It was then that Aleida added her caveat.  “I want you to know you’re the classiest girl in this whole damn arena, and don’t you ever fucking forget it.” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“We have an issue,” Mitch approached Fred a few days later, in the middle of some hallway in Scotiabank Arena. </p><p> </p><p>Fred wasn’t really doing anything, truthfully, but he still wasn’t too keen on the intrusion.  He was well aware of the reputation goalies were known for, and he fit into that pretty well.  He liked to think he was less weird than others, but his teammates probably didn’t think that was the case.  “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you going out with that girl?  Al-ay-da?” Mitch over pronounced her name.</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida?” Fred corrected him.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever.  Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.  Why?”  He had been wondering when Mitch was going to approach him about this.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just that…well…when she came to the game the other night, she said some stuff to Steph – some really rude stuff,” Mitch began.  “And Steph told me about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“What did she say?”</p><p> </p><p>Mitch got awkward.  “Apparently Aleida told Steph she was a classless Western girl with no manners who was desperate for attention and thought she was better than everybody.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh right, that,” Fred said, signifying for the first time his knowledge of the situation.  The way he was so calm about it surprised Mitch.  “Did Steph tell you why Aleida made the comment?”</p><p> </p><p>“N…No…”</p><p> </p><p>“Steph insinuated Bee a try-hard for writing that thank you note to Masai Ujiri,” Fred informed Mitch, who cowered at the bit of information Steph so obviously didn’t tell him.  Mitch even broke eye contact, probably ashamed now that he had even approached Fred about it.  “Aleida probably thought it was a bit warranted.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right…alright,” Mitch said awkwardly, his hands going to his hips as he looked down at the floor and turned on the balls of his feet to walk away.</p><p> </p><p>“See you later.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Fred was mesmerized. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida stood on stage at the Jazz Bistro, her band supporting her on the piano as her sultry voice filling the room, and Fred couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  He was transfixed.  The sight of her all done up, her long hair in loose Hollywood waves tousled over one shoulder, the shine of her dress, her bold red lip and flawless complexion shining underneath the stage lights…Fred was transfixed.  He didn’t think he took his eyes off her once the second she stepped on stage. </p><p> </p><p>And her <em>voice</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It went from ethereal to velvet, from rockstar to classical, from jazz to showgirl, and he couldn’t keep up.  She could sing ballads.  She could belt out Elton John.  She could croon in sultry jazz.  She could hold a high note like Adele.  The talent encapsulated within her amazed him.  She could do it all.  She could sound like anything she wanted.  She could play the piano and transform herself into something else – something she wasn’t…or something that she <em>was</em>, that Fred just didn’t know about yet.</p><p> </p><p>But fuck, did he want to find out. </p><p> </p><p><em>This</em> is what he missed the night of the event – when he first met her – when he didn’t listen to her.  When he didn’t even realize she was in the room.  It was awful to think that he hadn’t noticed her, her voice and her look and the way she played the piano.  That he had ignored her in a room full of people.  It made him sick to his stomach.  And then he thought about the grief that she was going through that night, and the fact that she had still decided to perform, to go through with the event – and how much <em>pain</em> she had been in that night – and he felt even more sick that he hadn’t noticed.  That <em>nobody</em> had noticed.  What did she sound like that night?  Was her voice full of pain?  Unhappiness?  Sorrow?  Misery?  He’d never know, yet he was so desperate to know. </p><p> </p><p>Morgan and Bee were there too, but Fred practically forgot about them.  They were quiet as they all listened, smiles on their faces as they watched Aleida perform with her band, but Fred was too busy to focus on them and the fun they were having listening to her.  He was busy thinking about Aleida on stage, what they’d do after, what he’d say to her and she to him.  A million things were running through his mind. </p><p> </p><p>When the band finished their first set and took their break after a raucous round of applause from the audience, Fred practically leaped out of his seat.  It took him a while to manoeuvre through all the tables and chairs and selfish people not moving for him, but eventually, he reached the back hallway and door where he figured the band was taking their break – where Aleida would be.  He knocked impatiently. </p><p> </p><p>The drummer answered the door, taking in Fred’s giant frame one foot at a time through the small crack.  “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice confident. </p><p> </p><p>“Can I see Aleida please?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“No – I’m – I’m her friend,” Fred said, trying to peer into the room and get a glimpse of her.  It wasn’t hard, considering how tall he was and how short the guy was, but he didn’t want to impede or intimidate him. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, we get that a lot,” the guy rolled his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“No no – I’m her <em>friend</em>, an actual <em>friend</em>,” Fred stressed.</p><p> </p><p>“Listen.  Aleida’s not coming out, alright?  We’re back on stage in fifteen minutes – go sit back down at your table.  If we let Aleida see everyone who claimed to know her she’d never get a break.”</p><p> </p><p>He shut the door in Fred’s face.</p><p> </p><p>It was at that moment that Fred realized Aleida didn’t tell anybody about him.  That he was disconnected with her, that he was nothing more than just some guy wanting to see her.  And there were, apparently, a lot of people wanting to see her. </p><p> </p><p>His chest tightened. </p><p> </p><p>He walked back to the table and downed the rest of his whisky sour. </p><p> </p><p>After the second set, and when the show was over, Fred returned back to the back corridor, this time with Morgan and Bee in tow.  They had been ready to go – Bee explicitly told him “We’re going to leave you alone with her now” – but wanted to be polite and say goodbye first.  It was Bee who decided to knock on the door this time, and it swung open instead of just being cracked open like it had been for him.  Bee charmed the drummer, and within five minutes, Aleida was out.  She gave Bee and Morgan hugs after they gushed about her performance, and they went on their merry way.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida turned towards Fred.  “Did you like it?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>“You were phenomenal,” he said earnestly, meaning every word.  “But…”</p><p> </p><p>“But <em>what</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“I tried to come during your break but your drummer wouldn’t let me see you,” he said.  He knew he sounded like a spoiled brat mixed with a wounded puppy but at this point he didn’t care.  “You haven’t…you haven’t told anybody about me,” he said.  He wasn’t here to sulk about it.  He just wanted her to know he knew.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want anybody to ruin you,” she said, wrapping her coat around her body. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida gave him a look.  “Nevermind.  Now are we gonna go or what?”</p><p> </p><p>            ***</p><p> </p><p>            This time, they went back to Fred’s condo.</p><p> </p><p>It was a typical bachelor pad, furniture that looked comfortable enough but that Aleida knew came with the apartment.  Professional athletes weren’t exactly known for their interior decorating skills.  She knew Fred had a couple of drinks at Jazz Bistro, but he opened up his wine fridge and pulled out a white.  He poured them glasses.  They sat on his couch.  Close.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you looking for?” she asked. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p> </p><p>“You asked me what I was looking for – what I was trying to find by being the way that I am and acting the way I do.  But you never said <em>your</em> answer to that,” she explained.</p><p> </p><p>Their conversations always happened in the dark, and they always had to continue them, apparently.  It was in the darkness where they shed light on themselves.  Fred sighed, knowing he couldn’t hide either.  “Balance.”</p><p> </p><p>“Balance?”</p><p> </p><p>“Balance,” he repeated.  “An eternal search for balance.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why balance?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred shrugged his shoulders, trying to find the right words so that he made sense and didn’t misconstrue himself.  “If there’s no balance, everything else falls too.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida couldn’t help but smile.  His sentence was so simple but so loaded at the same time.  He was so honest right off the bat.  She had no choice but to respect him for that.  There was no persona like there was with her – no ‘other side’ he put up when he was with her.  She couldn’t say the same for herself, unfortunately.  “That’s profound, Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>He thought back to the profoundness of Bee’s statements on seeing when he told her about Aleida.  Perhaps everybody was profound in their own way, and Fred had yet to realize that.  It had taken him thirty years of his life, but he finally came to the realization.  “It’s not, really – it’s what I need.”</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>need</em> it?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred nodded his head again.  “It’s not a metaphor or anything like that.  When I was a kid, even when I was a teenager, I’d get really competitive and I’d get really angry.  Like, <em>really</em> angry.  I’d erupt like a volcano.  It was bad.  I’ve learned how to compartmentalize it now, through a balance.  And the more balance I find – in my emotions and in my workload and in all things, really – the more things turn out okay.  The more I don’t erupt.”</p><p> </p><p>It was perhaps the most he’d ever spoken in one sitting.  He wasn’t exactly known as a man of many words, but Aleida apparently brought them out of him.  And when she smiled again, he couldn’t help but blush.  He hadn’t opened up like that in a while. </p><p> </p><p>            “What about what you <em>want</em>?” Aleida asked again.  “You’re looking for balance but there must be something you <em>want</em> with that balance.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred shook his head.  It was tough to answer that honestly.  He couldn’t do it without opening up what felt like his entire soul to her.  But all he had to do was take one look at her to make the decision that he would.  “It going to sound…<em>whatever</em>…but I want what Morgan and Bee have,” Fred whispered.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re going to have to explain a bit more.  They were lovely but I’m not sure what you mean,” Aleida said.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re just…it’s hard to explain,” Fred sighed, feeling foolish that he was even saying this out loud.  “They made me believe in the concept of soulmates.  Like, Morgan’s only ever got his eyes on Bee.  She could be talking, or cooking, or doing whatever, and he’s just…always <em>looking</em> at her.  It’s the simplest thing.  But he doesn’t have eyes for anybody else.  His eyes don’t even <em>see</em> anybody else.  The room could be burning and he’d be looking at Bee.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida thought back to when she met Morgan and Bee, and how much love and respect there was between them; how much Morgan doted on her and how much Bee cared about him.  And she thought about Bee at the game; her distinct persona and the air and grace around her.  “What do you mean ‘the room could be burning’?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know,” Fred began, his tone denoting like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “Things could be shit around them, but they’ve got each other.  Morgan could be injured, or playing bad, or Bee could be super-stressed at work or – like, earlier this year, in January, her mother passed away, and she went through a really hard time.  And then a while ago these awful girls began spreading the news that her mom was an alcoholic around town as gossip, and she was really affected by it.  But through all that, they still had each other.  They knew the other would always be there.  So like, the world could be burning, but they <em>know</em> they have each other.”</p><p> </p><p>As Aleida listened to Fred’s words, he could visibly see her face and demeanour change.  She visibly…<em>relaxed</em>.  She realized, right then and there, that she didn’t need to put up any type of front anymore whatsoever.  There was no need for a façade.  Fred was willing to show her a vulnerable side of him; she realized he deserved the same from her. </p><p> </p><p>“Fred?” her voice was small as she shifted uncomfortably. </p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>She looked at him.  Her mouth draped open slightly in hesitation.  His eyes were so…“I don’t know who I am,” she whispered.  “All my life I’ve been defined by my parents and their jobs.  Nobody ever saw me for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“But your piano teacher did.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida nodded her head, a single tear falling down her cheek.  “I’m still…grieving about that, you know.  I don’t think anybody will ever truly know how much she meant to me.  How much she helped me.”</p><p> </p><p>“So why aren’t you finding yourself?” Fred asked.  “Why are you letting others define you?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida shook her head.  “I don’t know.  I don’t…I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred looked concerned.  “You know Aleida, you lost somebody who saw you, but the second you did, you gained another.”</p><p> </p><p>She nodded her head.  She knew.  And she could have cried right then and there, but she didn’t.  Instead, she stared into Fred’s eyes, and he stared into hers, and they bonded.  They knew.  No more prefaces.  No more facades.  No more airs and graces.  Just honesty. </p><p> </p><p>He moved closer to her on the couch, and all she did was watch.  For the first time since he had known her, he acted on his intrinsic need to touch her. </p><p> </p><p>So he did.  He reached out to touch her.  To lay his hand down on her thigh.</p><p> </p><p>Except when he did, she almost violently flinched back. </p><p> </p><p>“What –”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry—”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m f—”</p><p> </p><p>“Is everyth—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em>fine</em>, I’m sorry—”</p><p> </p><p>Fred looked horrified.  His mind was running a mile a minute thinking about the possibilities of why she had flinched at his touch.  His eyes were wide and his body was stiff and he looked like he had just inadvertently broken an entire cabinet of fine china.  “I—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Don’t</em>,” she said sternly.  “Nothing’s happened.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know if I believe y—”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, <em>believe me</em>,” she said.  “Others have just been less…<em>soft</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly what it fucking means,” she said.  “Not everybody who has touched my body has been a <em>nice guy</em> like you, Fred.”  The horrified look didn’t exactly go away at her awful explanation.  “I don’t mean it like th – no, <em>no</em>,” she stressed.  “<em>Nothing has happened</em>.  But people have felt entitled to my body since the second I turned eighteen.  I’m not comfortable with my body.”</p><p> </p><p>It was at that point that Fred’s eyebrows furrowed.  For somebody so visually stunning, who had the perfect body, the perfect hair, the perfect clothes, the perfect <em>everything</em>, he couldn’t believe those words escaped her mouth.  “But y…you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”</p><p> </p><p>“Like I haven’t heard that before.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I actually <em>mean</em> it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know you do.  So has everyone else.  I own a mirror.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s jaw moved in confusion.  “What do you mean when you say people have felt entitled to your body since you turned eighteen?”</p><p> </p><p>“It means my mother and sister are plastic surgeons and they’ve never seen a face or body they didn’t think they could perfect, and I’ve been reminded of that since my mom told me I could get lip injections if I wanted to.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred realized what she was telling him.  It punched him right in the gut.  It took away the breath in his lungs and left his stomach in knots.  He knew that girls always saw flaws in their bodies – he wasn’t stupid – but Aleida?  This was a girl who so blatantly called out plastic surgery and lip fillers in others because she knew her mother did the procedures.  Why would she do such a thing if she herself was self-conscious about it all?  She was more complex than he thought, apparently.  A Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde. </p><p> </p><p>“Aleida…” Fred said softly, after a long silence so they could both digest the words in their own way.  “I want to touch you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” she nodded her head. </p><p> </p><p>He extended his arm again.  This time, when he touched her, she didn’t flinch.  She moved closer towards him until her entire body was touching his.  Their wine glasses forgotten on the coffee table, Fred and Aleida moved until he could wrap his arms around her fully, pulling her down with him to lie down on the couch.  His arms were so <em>big</em>, and his chest was so <em>big</em>, and everything about him, physically, was just so <em>big</em> and <em>warm</em> and Aleida felt completely and utterly repulsed with how she carried herself in comparison to him and how he carried himself.  In every way she could think of, they were nothing alike.  Yet here they were, wrapped into each other on a couch.</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t tell anybody how vulnerable I am,” she whispered, cradling his face in her hand.  Everything about him was so soft and everything about her was so rough, and she didn’t know how they came together.</p><p> </p><p>He nodded his head. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>While alone in his hotel room one night, after most of the guys had left to go to a bar, Fred decided to conduct an in-depth search of Aleida Casillas.  He knew there were a lot of things she wasn’t telling him, and that he couldn’t really trust the word on the street from girls like Serena.  So he went digging.</p><p> </p><p>The first links that came up were fashion related.  Things she wore to events put on by the Toronto International Film Festival, by <em>Toronto Life</em> magazine, by various other institutions in the city that always liked to have charity galas and fundraising parties so people with money felt like important, morally conscious philanthropists when they wrote $10,000 cheques for their tables.  There were <em>a lot</em> of pictures.  And she looked beautiful in all of them.  Stylish and classy and just plain <em>good</em>.  Everything fit to perfection.  He could see why she was a model – at least an apparent model – even though she never talked about it.  Her body was to die for.  People went under the knife to look like her. </p><p> </p><p>Other articles appeared from her past.  There was a photo of her as a teenager, posing in her school uniform, the kilt and blazer in full effect.  There was a family photoshoot when <em>Hello!</em> Magazine did a ten page spread of their newly renovated mansion in Rosedale, another spread from when their dad celebrated his 60<sup>th</sup> birthday party at the Shangri-La, and modelling shots from her Instagram profile and designers’ Instagram profiles.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>World-renowned cardiologist, Dr. Felipe Casillas, and his wife, plastic surgeon Dr. Leonor Casillas, invite us into their home!</em>
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  <em>Youngest daughter Aleida, 17, who was just recently accepted into the University of Toronto’s faculty of music, poses with her older sister Alejandra, 21, recently accepted to the University of Toronto’s faculty of medicine, are pictured above.  Alejandra is keen to follow in her parents’ footsteps and enter the medical profession.  “It’s important to me to carry on the legacy that my parents have established in Toronto,” she says.  </em>
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  <em>Aleida, for her part, loves music.  “I think if Aleida could sing every day, she would,” Leonor laughs.  “She has been playing piano since she was a child.  Aleida is far from a doctor, so it’s only natural for her to want to pursue it instead of medicine.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fred was irked at the comment.  He clicked on other articles and read on.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Aleida Casillas, 21, poses front row at Alexander McQueen’s London Fashion Week show.  Casillas has just graduated with a degree in music.  “Perfect for serenading,” she flirts into our camera.</em>
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</p><p>Click.</p><p>
  
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  <em>Toronto socialite and all-around beauty Aleida Casillas knows a thing or two about fashion.  After attending Branksome Hall with up-and-coming designer Genevieve Jones, the daughter of renowned cardiologist Felipe Casillas and plastic surgeon extraordinaire Leonor Casillas knew it was a no-brainer to support the designer as she launched her first collection.  She does, after all, have all the best connections.  Who wouldn’t want to attach themselves to Aleida?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Click.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>TDOTDIRT.com</em>
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  <em>Aleida Casillas is hot – we all knew that.  But did we know she’s fuckin’ smokin’ hot?</em>
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  <em>Check out her tits in her newest modelling shoot for Genevieve Jones. Those nips poking through?  <span class="u">Nice</span>.  And let’s not get started on her ass…</em>
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  <em>Aleida is probably the hottest girl in Toronto.  Too bad she’s got a stick up her ass.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Click.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Aleida Casillas sits front row at the Genevieve Jones fashion show after modelling for the brand.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Click.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Aleida’s tight body—</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Click.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Equestrian pursuits have always been a passion for the Casillas family.  Dr. Felipe Casillas, the cardiologist responsible for the successful quadruple bypass of former Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, brings us to the horse farm where his family’s horses are kept.  Left, Dr. Casillas’s youngest daughter, Aleida (15), poses with her horse Concordia.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Click.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Who wouldn’t want to slap Aleida’s tight ass—</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Click.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>TODIRT.com: Sent to us from a reader: </em>
</p><p>
  <em>If ANYONE ever runs into Aleida Casillas RUN THE OTHER WAY!!!!!  That girl is the BIGGEST BITCH in the city of Toronto.  She thinks she owns the city cause her family is rich!  I PERSONALLY saw her ruin a date right in front of me by FLIRTING with the guy IN FRONT OF THE GIRL!!!!!  She’s a heartless bitch!!!!!  And she thinks she’s such hot shit because she’s in magazines and models and is popular on Instagram, but NOBODY LIKES HER!!!!!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Click.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Aleida Casillas keeps her Cuban roots close to her heart.  She returns to Havana every year, where her family is one of the few who own a historic mansion in Miramar, to return to the place she has such find memories of.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Click.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>If u check the insta of @aleidacasillas she posted a story of her at the leaf game. she’s def in the wag section. is she dating someone on the leafs?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Who?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>omg aleida casillas is at the leaf game. basically confirms she’s dating someone on the team.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Who is this girl you guys keep talking about?  Is she a known bunny?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Aleida Casillas is one of the biggest socialites in Toronto.  These anons are reaching.  If she was dating a Leaf, we’d know about it.  Trust me.  She’d make us know about it.  She has no shame.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Um okay?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Click.</p><p> </p><p>Lock.</p><p> </p><p>He was left more confused than when he had started – at least somewhat.  There was so much to know about her, so much that she was already telling him but so much he still needed to know.  More than anything, he didn’t know how he didn’t know her before this.  How it had to come to finding her crying in order to know who she was when she was already in the public eye and there was so much to find out about her. </p><p> </p><p>He sighed.</p><p> </p><p>He unlocked his phone again. </p><p> </p><p><em>You have horses?</em> he typed and sent off the message.  He had no idea how she would react.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>I have one horse, Mars.  I’ve had horses. </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Who told you?</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I googled it</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>You must have found out a lot then</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Nothing as important as what you tell me when we’re alone</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>God, he didn’t expect that to come out like it did.  He was a grown man who wanted to hide beneath the covers.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Well aren’t you a lucky boy</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I didn’t mean it like that</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>I know you didn’t</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>My attitude doesn’t come through via text.  Sorry.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>What are you up to?</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Why haven’t you told me about your family?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Because I don’t think they’re very proud of me </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I don’t think I ever lived up to their expectations, but my sister did</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And that’s created tension</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>At least to me</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>They try to hide it but I know they’re disappointed</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I doubt they’re disappointed in you</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re successful</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>No I’m not</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Not like them</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Fred stared at the message for a long time – probably too long.  Because before he could begin typing out a message – what he would say, he didn’t know – she’d already sent something again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Go to bed Fred.  Big game tomorrow.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>God forbid people find out I’m the one to keep you up, right?</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Fred watched intently as Aleida walk into the café.  She was dressed in tight black pants, a tucked in black turtleneck, and a stylish brown plaid blazer.  Her hair was styled in loose curls and it bounced so effortlessly, like she was in a shampoo commercial.  Jewelry dripped off of her.  On her neck, a multistrand pearl necklace hung over her turtleneck, the diamond clasp holding it together shining bright in the light.  On her ears, pearl studs.  On her wrist, stacks of Cartier Love bracelets she had obviously put on recently.  On her fingers, a large emerald cut light green amethyst on a gold band on one hand; an equally as large emerald cut pale pink morganite ring on a gold band on the other. </p><p> </p><p>He shivered thinking about how much money she was wearing.  <em>Why</em> she was wearing so much money.  She approached the table and set her purse down on it – a Birkin, naturally – obscuring the view of what was on their table from the rest of the café-goers.  “Thanks for getting a table at the back,” she said, not even saying hello.</p><p> </p><p>It was a point of pain for Fred that she was averse to being seen with him in public, unless it was at the backs of restaurants or cafes where very few people would see them.  He tried to not let it get to him, but it was proving hard.  “Yeah, no problem,” he said absent-mindedly.  “Why are you all…” he didn’t finish his sentence, instead deciding to do jazz hands to signify how dressed up she was.  Not that she didn’t dress up all the time – it was mostly a statement on the jewelry. </p><p> </p><p>“I met with my friend Genevieve,” Aleida revealed, sitting down in her seat.  “You must have heard about her in your readings.”</p><p> </p><p>“The designer.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” she nodded her head.  “We did some new shots of her new pieces for Instagram, which is why…” she held up her hands, jingling her fingers like he’d just done, and motioned to her necklace.  “Clothes are hers.  Jewelry is mine.”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t want to go home and change?” Fred asked.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida’s brow’s furrowed.  “Why?  Do I not look good?”</p><p> </p><p>“No!  No no!  You look incredible—”</p><p> </p><p>“Then why would I change?”</p><p> </p><p>“I – forget it,” Fred shook his head.  “How are you?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida shook her head slightly.  There were a few moments where it looked like she was going to say something, but she didn’t.  She’d stop herself.  “I’ve been thinking about the stuff we talk about,” she began, getting right into it.  No formalities; no small talk.  “And I don’t…I don’t know why you’re still here.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred was perplexed.  “What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida sighed.  “I’m just not…” her voice cracked slightly.  “I’m not a good person.  And you <em>are</em>.  And I don’t know why you’re sticking around when it’s so obvious we’re like fire and ice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida, when are you going to get it through your thick skull that none of that matters,” he said, reaching over the table to hold her hand.</p><p> </p><p>This time, there was no flinching.  But she did tug away, and there was a sharp intake of breath as his hand refused to let go, even after being dragged further across the table.  “Don’t do that,” she said, barely above a whisper.</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because if you do, I’ll melt into you.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s heart skipped a beat at her words.  “What’s so wrong with that?” his voice was soft.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida shook her head again, like she was trying to deny not only Fred but herself too of the nonsense that was coming out of her mouth.  “I can’t…I can’t…”</p><p> </p><p>“Why<em> not</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t corrupt you.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred looked at her like she was crazy, because she was <em>really</em> sprouting some nonsense now.  He didn’t know where she was getting this from – where her mind would go when she was alone and overthought things – but if this was the result of a mind too active to think rationally, he didn’t like it.  “You’re not corrupting <em>anyone</em>,” he stressed. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m too much for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you’re just what I’ve been looking for.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida continued to shake her head.  She was stubborn – he had to give her that.  And quite hard-headed.  “You’re looking for balance.  You said so yourself,” she said.  “I can’t give you balance.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who are you to tell me what kind of balance I need,” he said back to her.  “Maybe you’re the balance I need.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Fred</em>,” she stressed his name, “you don’t understand.  I’m not in a good place emotionally and I haven’t been for <em>months</em> – some would argue <em>years</em> – and –”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida, <em>stop it</em>,” he said firmly.  The stubbornness and hard-headedness were hard to get through but he could be that right back at her if she was going to be like this – putting herself to blame for things.  “I’m going to be in your life whether you like it or not.”</p><p> </p><p>“But why?  <em>Why</em>?” she demanded.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not obvious to you?  I like you, Aleida.  Can’t you see that?”</p><p> </p><p>She looked at him, bewildered.  Like he’d just grown another head.  “You like me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I like you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “You honestly think I don’t?”</p><p> </p><p>“You – you mean you think I’m beautiful,” she attempted to correct him.</p><p> </p><p>“No.  Well – yes – that too – but besides that.  I like you.  However you present yourself to me.  However you are.  I like you.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida looked mystified.  Like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  Like it was a foreign concept that someone could like her and want to be around her willingly without bringing her beauty into it.  He wondered what made her think this way – what made her think the only reason people stuck around was her beauty.  “Listen, Aleida—”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida?” a voice suddenly interrupted their conversation.</p><p> </p><p>All the emotion drained from Aleida’s face as she violently tugged her hand away from his grasp and hid it underneath the table.  She looked up and noticed an all-too-familiar face at the waiting area of the bar.  Fred looked behind him to see a woman walking towards them.  Dressed impeccably – much like Aleida – except with less jewels draping off of her, although he still noticed similar Cartier love bracelets and a gold necklace.  Fred figured she didn’t come straight from a modelling shoot.  Although, the more he stared at her, the more he noticed similarities between the two women.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here?” the woman asked, a nice smile on her face.  She had beautiful, clear skin; long dark brown hair slicked back into a ponytail with a trendy headband; full lips painted with a neutral pink.  “Didn’t think I’d run into you here after you didn’t answer my text this morning!  I thought you might have dropped by the clinic.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred looked between the woman and Aleida.  Aleida caught him staring, and when she did, she knew she would have to explain.  There was no way getting out of it.  “This is my sister Alejandra,” she explained quickly, with no enthusiasm in her voice.  “Alejandra, this is Frederik.”</p><p> </p><p>Alejandra.  It took a second for Fred to realize that she was Aleida’s sister.  But after taking another look at her, and noticing their similar facial structure, noses, cheeks, and lips, he wondered why he didn’t see it sooner.  He cracked a polite smile.  “Hi.  It’s nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. </p><p> </p><p>“So this is Frederik Andersen,” she smiled, shaking his hand.  “You look different without your goalie mask on.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred chuckled slightly.  “Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry if you get that a lot.  When my husband found out Aleida somehow befriended you it was a big shock to us all.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s no problem,” he said.  His eyes flashed to look at Aleida quickly, who looked more nervous and uptight than usual.  “It’s nice to finally meet you.  Aleida has told me a lot about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did she tell you she was supposed to come visit our clinic this morning?” Alejandra slightly laughed, shifting her attention back to her sister.  “Where were you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I had a shoot.”</p><p> </p><p>“A shoot?”</p><p> </p><p>“With Genevieve.”</p><p> </p><p>“You had a modelling shoot with Genevieve.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, alright,” Alejandra accepted Aleida’s excuse nicely enough.  She didn’t put up much of a fuss.  “Mom was wondering if you’re still coming to dinner Wednesday night.  She didn’t get a text back from you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m coming.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fred, would you like to join?” Alejandra asked.</p><p> </p><p>Before Fred could even breathe – before he could even entertain the notion of getting dressed up, going to Aleida’s parents’ house, meeting them and interacting with them for an entire night like Alejandra was proposing – he noticed Aleida’s eyes bulge out of their sockets at Alejandra’s question.  “Fred has a game Wednesday,” she said quickly, answering for him. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh…okay then.  Next time,” Alejandra nodded, smiling politely again.  She focused back on her sister.  “Did you eat today?  Since you were supposed to come for breakfast.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida tried not to glare at her sister.  “I’m trying to eat right now.”</p><p> </p><p>“No foam latte for Alejandra!” the barista called out, placing a large takeout cup on the bar.  Fred, Aleida, and Alejandra looked towards the cup before looking back at each other. </p><p> </p><p>Alejandra smiled at them.  “Guess I better get going – Oliver is waiting outside anyway.  It was really nice to meet you Fred,” she said, extending her hand one last time.</p><p> </p><p>“You too.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll have to have you over for dinner or drinks sometime, whenever Aleida lets me,” she winked at them.  “Take care.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred watched as she walked out of the café, meeting with a man waiting that Fred could only assume was her husband Oliver before the continued down the street.  He looked back at Aleida, who was already looking down at her empty plate, not bothering to watch her sister.  “So that was Alejandra?” Fred asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor Alejandra Casillas-Rowe,” Aleida said her full name pretentiously, rolling her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“She was nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“You look like her,” Fred commented.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida finally looked him in the eye.  She snorted at his comment.  “<em>She</em> looks like <em>me</em>.  She <em>made</em> herself look like me.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred didn’t want to get into it.  There was obviously something there that he didn’t want to get in the middle of.  Relationships between sisters were notoriously…<em>complicated</em>.  He figured this was no different, especially considering the way Aleida was and what she had already told him about Alejandra living up to their parents’ expectations and Aleida not. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, Fred reached under the table to hold her hand again.  This time, she didn’t tug away. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“This is the <em>big boy</em> who was looking for you that one time,” Frank, the drummer in Aleida’s band, purred as he was introduced to Fred at Aleida’s house during a “gathering” she was having.  He eyed Fred up and down even as he spoke.  “A very, <em>very big boy</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop scaring him,” Aleida giggled, pinching the skin on Frank’s forearm. </p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t <em>you</em>?” Frank quipped.</p><p> </p><p>“Apparently not,” she wiggled her eyebrows. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m here, aren’t I?” Fred added. </p><p> </p><p>“You are.  And believe me, that says <em>a lot</em>,” Frank said.</p><p> </p><p>Fred felt Aleida snake her arm around his bicep.  He tried not to shiver at the contact – at the fact that for the first time, it was her that initiated the contact.  “He’s gotta meet everybody else.  We’ll be back.”</p><p> </p><p>Frank scoffed playfully.  “But he’s a tall glass of water and I’m not done drinking!” he complained, giving Fred yet another up-down. </p><p> </p><p>“Good<em>bye</em> Frank,” Aleida whisked Fred away.</p><p> </p><p>As Aleida began introducing Fred to everyone, he made sure to keep track of their names and their instruments.  There was Frank, the drummer; and Celeste, the saxophone player; and Malakai, the trumpet player; and his twin brother Marcellus, the trombone player; and Oscar, who played guitar on a vintage archtop; and Gina, the bassist, both double bass and electric; and Aleida of course, the pianist and singer.  As he met them, they all gave him knowing looks. </p><p> </p><p>These were the members of Aleida’s band, The Havana Cats – her second family.  They had been with her since she was twenty, when they all met magically one night at some bar downtown and realized they all played instruments and had a nagging desire to start some form of band as a means to relax from stressful university workloads.  And they did – they formed a band and jammed in rented out studio space or in someone’s garage.  But then they got good.  <em>Really</em> good.  And then Marcellus got the bright idea to book them a gig.  And they played it and did really well, so the owner asked them back.  Again.  And again.  And again.  And then they incorporated themselves into a business, and got booked at bigger clubs and more exclusive events thanks to Aleida’s name, and soon enough, they were booked <em>a lot</em>.</p><p> </p><p>And they stuck together.</p><p> </p><p>Most had day jobs – Malakai and Marcellus worked for the same financial securities firm, Gina worked as a web designer, Celeste as a music teacher, and Frank as waiter in an upscale restaurant – but their real passion was the music.  They were booked most weekends, at either private events, galas – like where Aleida had performed the same night she met Fred – or the odd jazz bar in downtown Toronto – like where Fred had watched them last. </p><p> </p><p>Genevieve was at the party too, tall and statuesque, with an air of grace about her that Fred immediately felt the minute he was introduced to her first.  They made polite small talk – she asked about the team, he asked about her being a designer – before the band came over all in one go.  That was when things got hectic.  But despite everybody being there, treating Aleida’s townhouse as if it were their own, eating all the food on the island and playing all the music from the speakers, Fred knew that Aleida was surrounded by people she loved, and people that loved her. </p><p> </p><p>There were moments when Fred would watch Aleida and he knew she was happy – that the smile on her face and the slight crinkles of her eyes were signs of pure, true, genuine happiness as she was surrounded by them.  There were moments when their eyes would meet across the room and she’d wink at him and he’d wink back, and he knew she wasn’t playing a game – that the wink was a genuine, deliberate act on her part to flirt in front of people she was comfortable with.  There were moments when she’d come up to him sitting at the bar and she’d stand in between his large legs as he sat on a barstool, and her body would be dangerously close to his, and her fingertips would graze his thigh or he’d bring his own hands up to lightly touch her hips or lower back or backs of her thighs and a blush would overcome her cheeks, and he knew she <em>wanted</em> to be there – that she wanted to be close to him, <em>physically</em> close, and that her guard was down, which was why she was even doing all of this in the first place.  She must have taken the conversation at the coffee shop to her heart, because there was no fighting, there were no stupid excuses, and there wasn’t any confusion about the feelings shared. </p><p> </p><p>Fred was seeing the happy Aleida.  The <em>true</em> Aleida.  What Aleida could look like.  What Aleida <em>was</em> like, at her core.  Without…<em>everything else</em> around her.</p><p> </p><p>It was the most attracted he had ever been.</p><p> </p><p>The band began to argue about whether or not they should jam out a few songs.  Oscar had already picked up the acoustic guitar sitting in the corner and was strumming random chords.  Celeste was offering songs.  Malakai was shooting them all down.  Fred’s hands were cold as Aleida had walked away from him, leaving him unable to touch her and feel his fingers burning as he did so.  He watched her kick Frank off her piano.  A Steinway Model D Concert Grand, it cost over $150,000.  Most people didn’t even have them in homes, because of their size and the fact that it was a concert piano meant for a giant stage, but Aleida did.  It was her baby.  And it wasn’t for fooling around with.  So Genevieve was explaining to him. </p><p> </p><p>“Aleida’s a treat, isn’t she?” Genevieve was quiet as the band continued to argue.  The sound of a few quick piano chords filled the room.</p><p> </p><p>“She definitely is.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know, Fred, it’s really telling that you’re still here.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred gave her a look.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a fire inside of Aleida,” Genevieve explained.  “Not many people are able to handle the heat.”</p><p> </p><p>Leave it to a fashion designer to speak in metaphors.  What was the fire supposed to represent?  Her personality?  Her issues?  Fred wished Genevieve would just say what’s on her mind.  “I know she’s going through a lot, and she’s maybe been through a lot, but I’m able to look past the front she puts up with people,” he explained.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you can.  That’s why I’m saying it’s telling you’re still here,” she clarified.  “It’s telling, because a lot of people know about Aleida, and they <em>think</em> they know her just because they see her or hear stories about her, but I’d hazard to guess it’s only the people in this room who know and understand and can <em>see</em> the true her.”</p><p> </p><p>“So what’s that got to do with her fire?”</p><p> </p><p>“Most people just feel the burns.  Only some people can see the fire, Fred.  And you’re one of them.”</p><p> </p><p>Before he could respond, the familiar sounds of a song he knew all too well hung in the air and distracted him, making him focus instead on Aleida sitting behind her piano and on Oscar strumming the guitar notes.  John Mayer.  He watched as she closed her eyes and continued to sing, her voice deep and jazzy and soulful all at once.  Everybody in the room became mesmerized listening to her.  Oscar helped sing the second stanza, then it returned to her.</p><p> </p><p>She and Fred locked eyes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Don’t say a word, just cover and lie here with me, cause I’m just about to set fire to everything I see…”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A shiver ran up his spine.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>When everybody was gone, Aleida found herself nestled into Fred again.  He had to be a gentleman about it.  Despite being touchy feely all night, he had to ask to touch her before she agreed, and his hands were so soft and delicate as he did; and when he wrapped his arms around her, she couldn’t help but melt – do the exact thing she was scared of doing when she spoke to him at the coffee shop.  But she found it harder and harder to say no to him, harder and harder to be so <em>hard</em> and <em>difficult</em> with someone who was only so easy and delicate with her. </p><p> </p><p>And so as she looked into his big blue eyes, and felt the scruff of his beard along the backs of her fingers, in the depths of her mind she knew he deserved better.  Explanations. </p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” his voice was barely above a whisper. </p><p> </p><p>Explanations.  He needed more explanations.  He needed to know what happened to her.  What she had been through.  Other things that made her the way she was. </p><p> </p><p>So she was going to tell him.</p><p> </p><p>“I had an eating disorder – well – I – I had trouble with food, and I had trouble with my body for a long time, because people paid more attention to it than they did <em>me</em>, and it really fucked me up for a really long time, and I think it’s the other major reason why I am the way that I am today,” she said, finally.</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s eyes stung upon hearing her revelation.  He had never known anyone with an eating disorder, even though he knew the brain was a tricky and complex thing.  He wanted to be more understanding – not just for his sake, but for Aleida’s.  He assumed that she had probably told very, <em>very</em> few people about it – and a part of him wondered, knowing the relationship with her family, if she even told <em>them</em>.  As much as it was painful for him to hear, and as much as it probably took a lot for her to tell him, it was a privilege hearing it.  It meant she trusted him.  “Aleida…”</p><p> </p><p>     “What I had was an EDNOS – but now they call it OSFED,” she kept talking, needing to let it all out now that it was out in the open.  “It started my last year of high school…basically the day I turned 18 and was legal.  I wasn’t anorexic or anything – or bulimic – and I didn’t really binge eat often.  But I was obsessed with my body because everybody else became obsessed with my body.  I would think about everything that went into my mouth and how it would affect my body and how it looked.  Like, if I ate a kale salad would my stomach still be flat?  If I ate a donut would my boobs get bigger from fat?  It was all in an effort to maintain the beauty that people were so fixated on, because I was convinced by everybody around me that it was the only thing about me that mattered.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s mind was racing a mile a minute, thinking about what she had to go through at such a young age.  He wanted to punch every single person who was responsible for making her feel the way she did; for making her think she was <em>only</em> beautiful and not anything else – a real, three-dimensional human being with needs and wants and emotions just like everybody else.  “How long have you been sick?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“It went on for a couple of years before I got help.  It was the worst kind of psychological torture.  You have no idea.  But I finally told my parents – well, my dad, the one who <em>isn’t</em> a plastic surgeon.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s mind began to race again, thinking about everything she had to endure.  The pain and suffering of being in a body she had a bad relationship with; the constant guilt of trying to nurture herself with food but fighting an internal battle with herself wondering if it was worth consuming; the harassment from people around her who only focused on the least important part of her; the self-hatred; the loneliness; knowing that everybody around her was obsessed with the one thing she didn’t want them obsessing over, and judging her over the one thing that didn’t need to be judged.  He was at a loss for words, and a loss for actions.  “I’m so sorry,” was all he could say.</p><p> </p><p>     She smiled meekly at him.  “You’d think that a doctor who sees Felipe Casillas making an appointment would know better, but apparently not.  The first doctor told my father it was a <em>privileged</em> disease,” she continued to confess.  She noticed Fred’s eyes go wide at what she had just said.  “He told my dad that I had been a bored teenager, and a bored adult, and if my dad gave me something to do, I would grow out of it.”</p><p>    </p><p>“That’s horrible,” Fred commented.</p><p> </p><p>“I know.  I’m pretty sure my dad tried everything in his power to get the guy’s medical licence revoked,” she said, slightly smiling.  “I’m okay now, if you’re wondering.  But it was a struggle for a really long time.”</p><p>    </p><p>“You’re so strong,” Fred blurted out, the filter between his brain and his mouth non-existent.  “You’re so, so strong.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida didn’t know whether to believe him.  She didn’t know if she was strong.  She never thought about it.  Other things, unfortunately, preoccupied her mind, and her strength and how she overcame something like that never took precedent.  She almost let it destroy her.  Maybe it did. </p><p> </p><p>There was nothing left to say.  Fred and Aleida knew there was nothing left to say.  Words exhausted them – he knew he didn’t exactly speak much, but he didn’t need to.  Aleida’s words – the more important words – hung in the air around them.  They continued to just stare at each other, his blue eyes and her hazel eyes communicating things that didn’t need to be said with words.</p><p> </p><p>Then, Aleida moved closer.</p><p> </p><p>And closer.</p><p> </p><p>And then, she kissed him.  And he kissed her back.  And it was soft at first – like everything else to do with Fred, Aleida thought.  And then she kept kissing him.  And kissing him.  And kissing him.  And he kept kissing her.  And kissing her.  And kissing her.  And soon Aleida didn’t know where her lips started and Fred’s began.  And she didn’t need to guess what he tasted like, because he slipped his tongue into her mouth.  And he didn’t need to guess what she tasted like, because she slipped her tongue into his mouth too.  And they kissed.</p><p> </p><p>And they kissed.</p><p> </p><p>And they kissed.</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida?” Fred’s voice mumbled against her lips as they caught their breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p> </p><p>“You have to start doing things that make you happy.”</p><p> </p><p>She made sure she was looking him directly in the eye.  “I already am.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aleida listened to Fred.  Mostly. </p><p> </p><p>When they kissed and he told her <em>“You have to start doing things that make you happy”</em>, she took it to heart.  She didn’t know why.  She didn’t take what <em>anybody</em> said to heart – well, just a few people, but <em>no-one else</em> – so it was a wonder to her why she listened to Fred.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it was because part of that – part of doing things that made her happy – meant she got to kiss him now.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida would never, <em>ever</em> declare a weakness.  She wouldn’t show a weak bone in her body to anyone or anything.  But she was weak.  For Fred.  For his eyes and for his ginger hair and for his soft voice and big body and broad shoulders and big hands and…everything.  She was weak for everything.  And in admitting she was weak, she knew she was becoming more vulnerable.  But she couldn’t stop herself.  She kept kissing him.  Almost every time she saw him now they were kissing, and he was touching, and when he touched her it felt like her body was on fire – <em>in a good way</em>.  It didn’t feel like how it did in the past.  It felt better.  Superior to every other feeling.  Yes – when Fred touched her, she didn’t think of anything else.  It was a miracle.</p><p> </p><p>For his part, Fred liked kissy Aleida.  He liked her lips, and her smile, and how while kissing him he’d feel her smile, and it made the butterflies in his stomach flutter with content, as cheesy as it sounded, because with each kiss Aleida was becoming softer, more like the Aleida he knew she was, the Aleida he saw that night when her band was over and she has no front and no inhibitions.  He so desperately wanted to see more of that Aleida, and he would do whatever it took to see her that way – and to get her there permanently.</p><p> </p><p>So when she told him <em>“We’re going out.  We’re taking your car.  Get it ready”</em>, he took it through a car wash asked how to dress but she told him <em>“Don’t ask too many questions”</em> so he shut his mouth and just…trusted her.  He pulled his aubergine Porsche to the curb to pick her up at her townhouse.  He parked it and went to her front door.  He thought himself a gentleman.  He bent down to kiss her before even saying hi.<br/><br/></p><p>“Where are we going?” he asked as they walked back to her car, their fingers loosely tangled in each other’s before he opened the door for her. </p><p> </p><p>“I <em>said</em> don’t ask too many questions,” she smiled before crouching to get into the passenger seat.  “Just follow my directions.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you gonna lead me off a cliff?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I already have.”</p><p> </p><p>A shiver ran up his spine.  He closed the door.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>They were apparently late.</p><p> </p><p>At least, that’s how it seemed when Fred pulled into the parking lot of wherever Aleida brought him and there were practically no spaces – he had to go all the way to the back of the lot, under the overarching branches of a tree to find a space.  When he shut off the engine and they exited his car, Fred looked up, reading the large lettering at the side of the building. </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Our Lady of Charity Catholic Church / Iglesia Católica </em>
  <em>Nuestra Senora de la Caridad</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You brought me to a church?” he asked, looking at her.  She had a cheeky smile on her face.  “You trying to convert me or something?  Trying to get me to burst into flames?”</p><p> </p><p>She snorted.  “Shut it.  We’re going to do something that makes me happy.”</p><p> </p><p>“In a <em>church</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida slapped his arm playfully.  “You’re mean.”</p><p> </p><p>“C’mere,” he held her hand, pulling her towards him and the backing her up against the car.  He bent down again to kiss her, placing his hands on the small of her back. </p><p> </p><p>He was able to give her a few deep kisses before she pulled away to catch her breath.  “Mmm…” she mumbled, a small smile on her face as she looked down at his lips.  “You’re lucky I buy the good lipstick that doesn’t transfer.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wouldn’t matter,” he mumbled quickly as he leaned in again to continue.  She let him.  “I just wanna kiss you.  I just wanna kiss you all the time.”</p><p> </p><p>They kissed for a few more minutes – unable to keep their lips off each other – until Aleida pulled back again.  She bit her lip as she took a quick look at him.  Her hand went down to his to grab it and she tugged on it lightly.  “Come on,” she tried to move him away from the car and towards the building.</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“Frederik</em>,” she eyed him.  “Let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>As Aleida led them into the side door of the church, she immediately led them down the stairs and into the basement hall.  The place was buzzing.  There were people everywhere, young and old, and everybody he could hear was speaking Spanish.  Fred had to watch his head as they turned the corridor, coming upon some sort of check-in station.  Aleida spoke quickly in Spanish to the older women manning the station who wrote down her name and handed her two of those small raffle tickets.  They looked behind her to see Fred lurking. </p><p> </p><p><em>“¿Es este tu invitado?</em>” she asked Aleida.  <em>[[ Is this your guest? ]]</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>Si</em>,” Aleida nodded, smiling slightly.  “<em>Sun ombre es Frederik.  Federico.”  [[ Yes.  His name is Frederik. ]]</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>El es muy alto</em>,” the other woman said, giving him an up down.  “<em>Un trago alto de agua. Y tan jengibre</em>.”  <em>[[ He’s very tall.  A tall drink of water.  And so ginger. ]]</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>Definitivamente no es Cubano</em>,” the first woman said.  <em>[[ He’s definitely not Cuban. ]]</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>El es danés</em>.”  <em>[[ He’s Danish. ]]</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“<em>Claro que lo es. Los cubanos nunca son tan altos</em>,” she smiled.  She looked at him and smiled, and he smiled politely back.  “Have fun tonight,” she said, her voice heavy with an accent.  <em>[[Of course he is.  Cuban men are never that tall. ]]</em></p><p> </p><p>“Gracias,” Fred bowed his head slightly as Aleida grabbed his hand again and led him further down the hall.  He felt like a little puppy being led around new environments for the first time.  “What were those ladies saying?”</p><p> </p><p>“They had the hots for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred snorted.  “Be serious.”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>am</em>!” she defended herself.  “They said they knew you weren’t Cuban because of your height.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not my ginger hair?”</p><p> </p><p>“That too.  You stick out like a sore thumb.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause as Fred looked around again.  Stepping into the church hall, he saw a lineup of people being served food.  The place was packed – filled to the brim with people sitting at tables and enjoying themselves, laughing and telling jokes and eating the food.  Men and women were walked around putting wine bottles on tables.  Children were running through the spaces in between the tables trying to catch each other. </p><p> </p><p>He really did stick out like a sore thumb.</p><p> </p><p>“What is this?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“The Cuban Society of Toronto puts this on once a month,” she began.  “Cuban food, Cuban music, Cuban people all together.  And this is…you know…my <em>culture</em>,” she said.  “This is something I love.  Being with, and <em>engaging</em> with my culture.  Especially since things lead me to become so disconnected from it.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred smiled down at her.  “This is amazing, Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nice to be around people who don’t care who I am,” she continued.  “I mean…I mean some of them might know, but they don’t <em>stare</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“I get i—”</p><p> </p><p>“—and they don’t – they don’t – I don’t know, they just don’t <em>care</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I get it Aleida.  It’s okay,” he said softly.  He took one more look around the room, at all the people having a good time, and smiled.  “Should we go eat before it’s all gone?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida smiled.  “You bet.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Fred was served something called ropa vieja – the classic Cuban dish of shredded beef, rice, vegetables, and a sauce.  The flavouring was to die for, and Fred could only chalk it up to the old grandmas serving the food who had probably made all the dishes in the first place.  It was one of the best things he’d ever had; one of the best meals he’d ever eaten.  He asked Aleida if she knew how to make it.  She did. </p><p> </p><p>Conversation at their section of the table was lively though Fred didn’t understand 95% of what was being said.  Aleida was deep in conversation with the Cuban family surrounding them, translating quickly for Fred before delving into what sounded like philosophy lectures with the family and their children – a young teen and two younger children.  Grandma, grandpa, aunts, uncles – everybody was there.  Aleida was having the time of her life.  She couldn’t speak fast enough to say what she wanted to say.  The smile on her face was as wide as when she was surrounded by her band, and just like when that happened, Fred didn’t want it to end.  He would stay here all night if he needed to.  He’d help clean up. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, before he could realize what was happening, they began clearing the plates away and folding up the tables very, <em>very</em> quickly.  Fred heard a quick few notes being played on a piano.  He looked towards the stage to see a man – maybe in his early sixties – sitting at the piano.  Around him, a band was bringing their instruments onto the stage.  There was already a drum set he hadn’t noticed.  Now a woman was testing a microphone.</p><p> </p><p>He gulped. </p><p> </p><p>“Aleida…” he tugged on the sleeve of her turtleneck like a small child. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Perdóneme</em>,” she excused herself from the conversation she was having with the matriarch of the family.  “Yes Fred?”</p><p> </p><p>“What are they doing on stage?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida took a quick look and a smile appeared on her face.  “The band is setting up!”</p><p> </p><p>“The band?  What <em>band</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“The band that plays the Cuban music!” she said excitedly.</p><p> </p><p>There had been Cuban music playing from a speaker somewhere in the room throughout dinner – Fred didn’t think there’d be an <em>actual</em> band.  “Aleida – you – you didn’t tell me there’d be music,” he said worriedly.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes I did.  I said Cuban food, Cuban music, and Cuban people all together.  It’s a dinner-dance, Fred.  There <em>has</em> to be a live band.”</p><p> </p><p>Okay, so maybe she did.  He gulped at her words.  “Aleida, I don’t dance,” he said definitively.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Fred—”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Aleida – I – <em>I don’t dance</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fred, it will be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“No it won’t,” he said.  “I’m a six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound Danish man who can’t move his body unless it’s in a goalie crease.  This isn’t going to end well.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Frederik</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Aleida</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“I can teach you, Fred.  It’s not that hard.”</p><p> </p><p>“You won’t be able to.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s mostly salsa and mambo.  It’s not rocket science.  I’ll teach you the basic moves and you’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida, I <em>really</em> don’t think you understand—”</p><p> </p><p><em>“¡Hola todos!</em>” a voice called out on the microphone.  Fred whipped his head around to see a woman with perfectly coiffed hair, probably in her early fifties, waving to everybody to get their attention.  <em>“¡Bienvenido a la Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Caridad! Si nunca has estado, te damos la bienvenida a nuestra comunidad. ¡Esperamos que hayas disfrutado de la comida y estés listo para bailar con un filete! ¡Vamonos!” [[ </em><em>Hello everybody!  Welcome to Our Lady of Charity Church!  If you have never been, we welcome you to our community.  We hope you have enjoyed the food and are ready to dance away to pulled steak!  Let's go! ]]</em></p><p> </p><p>“Federico – do you know how to dance?” he was asked by the matriarch.</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s very easy,” she said.  “You just move your hips and move your feet and—”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, the music started.  An upbeat tempo introduced on the piano – apparently one everybody knew judging by their riotous cheers – and soon, the drums and guitar came in.  People coupled up almost instantaneously.  Fred’s cheeks flushed red and he backed himself up towards the wall. </p><p> </p><p>“Fred – <em>Frederik</em>,” Aleida called out to him, following him and extending her hand so he could grab it.  “Fred, it’s <em>fine</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know how to dance to this music,” he said as he watched everybody move so in tune to the music and the beat so easily.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me teach you,” she said, more softly this time, taking the initiative to grab his hand.  “Fred, it’ll be fine.  I’ll teach you.  No-one’s looking.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida—”</p><p> </p><p>“Fred – <em>no-one’s looking</em>,” Aleida stressed, getting even closer to him.  She pushed her body against his gently.  “<em>Nobody’s looking</em>.  And nobody’s gonna care.  We can do this.”</p><p> </p><p>He knew what she meant by those words.  He did.  And so, his heartrate slowed down slightly, and he looked at Aleida’s smile, and how big it was, and he looked at her eyes, and the excitement in them – the happiness – rather than the sorrow he saw so much, and he relented.  For her.  Only for Aleida Casillas.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida was extremely patient with him.  She tried teaching him the proper steps, and he got it <em>a little bit</em>, but then she tried to incorporate the hips, and he lost it, so she couldn’t help but laugh at his awkward limbs and nervous smile and think he was the absolute cutest person in the world.  Eventually, they had to give up, and Aleida just had to say <em>“Just pretend and look like you know what you’re doing”</em>, and Fred did.  And he was still awkward, and still bumped into a lot of people with his large body, and still moved his hips awkwardly and did abysmal footwork, but he was dancing with her.  He was having fun dancing with her, spinning her out and around before pulling her back in and having his hands all over her hips and body as she lost herself in the music.</p><p> </p><p>Then the band started to play a different type of music.  Upbeat still, but sultrier.  A bit of a slower tempo.  Footwork and moves didn’t have to be so fast, and the movement of the hips was more pronounced – at least on Aleida – than before.  He liked it.  He <em>really</em> liked it.  He got to hold Aleida closer; place his hand on her hips and the small of her back before she would spin out and then rejoin him.  As the songs progressed, the beat got sultrier; and as the beat got sultrier, the closer Aleida got.  The more eye contact they’d make.  The more she’d feel the heat from his hands on her body. </p><p> </p><p>During a stop between songs, when everyone was clapping for the band, Aleida took a deep breath.  “Fred?” she eventually whispered.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s go to your car.”</p><p> </p><p>He furrowed his brows.  “You already want to go home?”</p><p> </p><p>He could be so innocent sometimes.  It was part of his charm and softness that she was drawn to so much.  “<em>No</em>, Fred.  Just follow me.”</p><p> </p><p>She grabbed his hand and led him out of the church basement quickly, not bothering to look back.  She could hear the jingle of his keys as he pulled them out of his pocket to unlock his car, and she practically shoved him into the driver’s seat before she returned to the passenger’s seat.  As he was about to stick his keys into the ignition, she slapped his hand away.  “Don’t do that.”</p><p> </p><p>He looked at her skeptically.  “What’s going on?”</p><p> </p><p>“Push your seat back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wh—”</p><p> </p><p>“I said <em>push your seat back</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida, I’m six-foot-four in a sports car – it’s already as far back as it can go.”</p><p> </p><p>That was when it all got rolling.  Aleida hopped over the centre console to straddle Fred’s lap, almost immediately bringing her hands up to caress his face and crash her lips onto his.  Fred responded immediately, his tongue gliding along her lips gently and his hands squeezing her thighs before moving to cup her ass through the fabric of her tight pants. </p><p> </p><p>His lips were soft – so soft – just how Aleida remembered them – and his beard was rough – so rough – against her skin.  Just like before, his lips moved so in tune with hers, and after a while she really couldn’t figure out where his ended and hers began.  His hands kept wandering up and down her thighs, eventually tugging at her turtleneck that was tucked into her pants.  It didn’t take long until she pulled away reluctantly, helping him push the fabric up and over her head and onto the passenger’s seat, leaving her in her nude coloured lace bra on his lap. </p><p> </p><p>Fred gulped.  This was the first time he’d ever seen her like this; so flush with raw emotion and so…<em>exposed</em> – physically at least – that he almost didn’t know what to do.  But then his body took over, and he stopped <em>thinking</em> too much, and his lips were on her skin again, and his hands were on her skin again, and he realized they were going to hook up in his God damn <em>car</em>, and he reminded himself to stop thinking too much <em>again</em>, and he licked and sucked a trail down her neck to the top of her breasts as she grinded down onto his lap.</p><p> </p><p>It was going to be interesting to maneuver, this whole…<em>situation</em>.  There was no point in thinking of the logistics of it because Aleida started making little noises and moaning softly and it was driving Fred crazy.  Absolutely fucking crazy.  And Aleida could tell, because she could feel how hard he was getting beneath her.</p><p> </p><p>So she started fumbling with his belt.</p><p> </p><p>There was a sharp intake of breath from Fred.  She still had her pants on.  “Aleida…” he huffed.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t respond.  She was focused in on his belt and continued working on it until it was unbuckled.</p><p> </p><p>So he started to unbutton her pants. </p><p> </p><p>There was a sharp intake of breath from Aleida.  She lifted herself so Fred could shove her pants down past her knees.  “Fred…” she huffed.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t respond.  He was focused on the underwear she was wearing.</p><p> </p><p>When he looked up at her, she kissed him again.  Feverishly.  There was no point in holding back anymore and it wasn’t like she even <em>wanted</em> to.  She was initiating this and they were <em>doing</em> this and it was happening <em>fast</em>.  His hands returned wandering along her exposed skin as his lips returned to her neck and breasts. </p><p> </p><p>She tugged gently at his hair as his tongue ran across her clavicle.  The noise that escaped him was…<em>God</em>, she didn’t even have a word for it.  It was the first time she’d heard it and she had never heard it before.  Unexplainable.  His hands dug into the ample flesh of her ass as she did it again.  She noticed the windows were starting to fog slightly.  She let out a sigh.</p><p> </p><p>Her hand eventually moved down in between their bodies to free his member.  She lifted herself slightly again to do so, giving it a few strokes that garnered heavy sighs from Fred.  He pulled down her panties easily before she lowered herself back onto his lap.  She gave him a quick kiss.</p><p> </p><p>“You alright?” Fred breathed out. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida nodded.  “You?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred nodded.  He gave her another kiss and as he did, she moved so he could enter her slowly.  They didn’t lose eye contact as she kept lowering herself onto him, gripping onto the skin at the nape of his neck.  “Jesus <em>fuck</em>,” she sighed out.  She tried to steady her breathing, the ache between her legs due to his size shocking her.  “<em>God</em>, Frederik.”</p><p> </p><p>He gave her a big, wet kiss and she moaned into his mouth as she adjusted to his size.  When she did, she began to grind back and forth on his lap, keeping eye contact with him as she did so, her body filling with pleasure.  She let out some more soft moans before tugging Fred’s hair again. </p><p> </p><p>Two could play at that game. </p><p> </p><p>One of his giant hands immediately went to her core and he used his thumb to start rubbing circles.  A string of expletives left her mouth as they leaned their foreheads against each other’s, keeping eye contact, their breath becoming more erratic and hotter with each passing second.  Judging by her movements and breathing, he knew she was close – this wasn’t meant to last long, anyway – and he was close, too.  He increased the pressure he was putting on her hot core.</p><p> </p><p>“Fred…” she leaned forward slightly, whispering his name against his lips.  “F…F…Freddie…Freddie…<em>Freddie</em>…”</p><p> </p><p>At the feeling of him releasing inside her she came undone.  Writhing and shaking on top of him, repeating his name in mewls over and over again between moans and sighs, she rode out her orgasm for as long as she could.  Fred gripped one of her thighs, squeezing them as they both tried to steady their breathing.  Fred kissed her tenderly on the shoulder and neck as they began to settle down, Aleida eventually resting her forehead against his again.  She stared into his soul.  Her body felt warm with pleasure. </p><p> </p><p>“That was fucking hot,” he blurted out.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida bit her lip as she tried to suppress a laugh, smiling devilishly instead.  She gave him a small peck on the lips.  “That <em>was</em> hot,” she whispered back.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>, Aleida,” he sighed as he slipped out of her.  He quickly looked down at her ample breasts, still in their bra, pushed against his chest.  “Aleida—”</p><p> </p><p>She kissed him again, needing him to be quiet.  She wanted to revel in this moment for just a bit longer.  And she needed to do that without voices – without her inner thoughts, without him saying anything.  She’d just had sex in a sportscar parked in a church parking lot.  She felt like she was young again, a teenage giddiness within her at the thought of what just happened.  What she had just done with Fred.</p><p> </p><p>With <em>Fred</em>.</p><p> </p><p>When her lips left his again, she looked deep into his eyes.  She kissed the tip of his nose.  She couldn’t help it.  “You’re going to have to help me put my panties back on,” she smiled slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“How about you keep them off for the ride back to my place,” Fred suggested.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida giggled.  “We’re not going home.”</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not done dancing, Frederik.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s face dropped, and Aleida snorted into a fit of giggles.  “You don’t expect me to go back in there, do you?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“I said I’m not done dancing, which means neither are <em>you</em>,” she continued to giggle, giving him another kiss on the nose.  “Now help me with my panties.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Aleida</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll help you with yours,” she wiggled her eyebrows. </p><p> </p><p>“You can’t be serious.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m as serious as a stroke,” she said, reaching down to grab her own panties since Fred hadn’t bothered due to his shock.  “We’re gonna get dressed, I’m gonna go to the washroom to freshen up, and then we’re gonna continue dancing until the band stops playing.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m gonna kill you,” Fred huffed out. </p><p> </p><p>She leaned in to his ear.  “Save that energy for when we go back to your place later.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred groaned loudly. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Fred waited for Aleida outside the women’s washroom.  Every person that passed gave him the complete up-down, clearly still surprised to see someone so ginger and so tall at the event.  It couldn’t have been because he was probably flushed red after what just happened.  It couldn’t have been because his hair was now disheveled, unlike earlier.  It couldn’t have been because he was jittery waiting for Aleida. </p><p> </p><p>He smiled politely at every patron who stared.</p><p> </p><p>When Aleida finally emerged, looking as fresh and beautiful as ever – not <em>at all</em> like she had just fucked someone out in the parking lot in a sportscar – he pushed himself off his leaning position on the wall.  “Are we seriously going to keep dancing?” he asked.  Maybe she had been playing a trick on him.  Come back in and go to the washroom but then drag him back outside again.  She would be one to do so.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, grabbing his hand to drag him back into the hall.  The band was taking a break, but everyone was still congregated in the hall, talking to one another. </p><p> </p><p>She found the family they had eaten with and began speaking with the matriarch again, and then the matriarch seemed really excited to introduce another family to Aleida – a great grandfather, the grandparents, the parents, and their four children – and the great-grandfather kissed Aleida’s hand and whispered something to her, and the grandfather gave her a big hug and held her face lovingly, and the little girl, maybe nine or ten years old, tugged on her dad’s sleeve and nodded over to Fred, who smiled and waved at everyone.  He had no clue what was going on.  Aleida motioned for him to come closer.</p><p> </p><p>“This is Manuel Alvarez,” she pointed to the great-grandfather, “and Martìn and Sofìa,” she pointed at the grandparents, “and their son Santiago and his wife Nina,” she pointed to the parents, “and their children Augusto, Antonio, Ximena, and Rosa.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hello,” Fred shook all of their hands, even the children, and smiled politely. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Tu marido es muy </em>guapo,” Sofìa smiled at Aleida.  <em>[[ Your husband is very handsome. ]] </em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oh, el no es mi </em>esposo.”  <em>[[ Oh, he’s not my husband. ]]</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>Será major que lo hagas tu esposo o alguien má en esta sala</em>,” Sofìa giggled, giving Fred another look.  “<em>Rosa definitivamente lo hará</em>.”  <em>[[ You better make him your husband or else someone else in this room will.  Rosa definitely will.]]</em></p><p> </p><p>Fred smiled awkwardly as Aleida laughed.  He looked at her, confused.  “Do you know them?” he asked timidly.</p><p> </p><p>“My dad operated on Manuel – double bypass surgery – ten years ago,” Aleida informed him quickly.  “He recognized me from a picture in my dad’s office and wanted to say thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>The band interrupted any further explanation or conversation they could have, the sound of them testing their instruments filling the room.  That’s when Manuel limped over to Aleida, grabbing her hand tenderly again.  <em>“</em><em>¡Señorita Casillas, debo tener al menos un baile con usted! ¿Puedo mantenerte alejado de tu novio por tanto tiempo?</em>” <em>[[ Miss Casillas, I must have at least once dance with you!  Can I keep you away from your boyfriend for that long? ]]</em></p><p> </p><p>Aleida smiled.  She couldn’t deny him.  He reminded her so much of her own great-grandfather – God rest his soul.  She looked at Fred.  “I think Rosa wants to dance with you.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred looked down at the little girl, who was looking away shyly.  He bent down so he could be at somewhat eye-level with her, though he was still taller.  “Do you think you can show me how to do the next dance?”</p><p> </p><p>She nodded her head.  “Do you know the Chipi Chipi?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s easy.  You get to wave your hands like this,” she gave him an example.  “And the music is fun.”</p><p> </p><p>As if on cue, the band began to play intro music to let everyone know it was time to dance again.  People partnered up almost automatically.  Manuel held Aleida’s hand up and placed his hand gently on her waist, ready to dance.  Fred stood up and extended his hands for Rosa to hold, which she did enthusiastically.  The music started.  Everybody began dancing.</p><p> </p><p>The first song apparently wasn’t the Chipi Chipi, because they didn’t have to wave hands, but after that song ended, Aleida continued dancing with Manuel and Fred with Rosa, and it was all in good fun – Fred would glance at Aleida to see the movements he was supposed to be doing, and try to mimic them as much as possible.  When he couldn’t – or when he became a stumbling mess – he resorted to just spinning Rosa in and out, even lifting her up and twirling her around, making her giggle in excitement every time. </p><p> </p><p>When Rosa squeaked excitedly at the start of a new song, Fred knew it was the song she was waiting for.  Everybody in the hall seemed excited, too, as the band began playing.  Fred looked over to Aleida, still dancing with Manuel, and they smiled at each other before the woman began singing the lyrics. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Amor, te voy a comprar un avioncito para volar<br/>En nuestra luna de miel<br/>Amor, te voy a comprar un trencito para viajar<br/>En nuestra luna de miel<br/>Escucha lo que dice al caminar..<br/>Tu canta el chipi chipi para bailar..<br/><br/></em>
</p><p>The dancing was easy enough, and the tempo was so happy and upbeat, Fred couldn’t help but break out into a smile.  Rosa readied him for the chorus, where they flung their arms in the air.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Pichipi chipi, <strong>eh</strong>! Chipi chipi, <strong>eh</strong>!<br/>Aprende a bailar el ritmo del Chipi chipi<br/>Pichipi chipi, <strong>eh</strong>!, Chipi chipi, <strong>eh</strong>!<br/>Aprende a bailar el ritmo del Chipi chipi<br/>Epaaaaaaa! Opalaaaa!. Gózalaaaa!<br/>Así, aprende negro..<br/><br/></em>
</p><p>Aleida eyed Fred dancing with Rosa, and how he was letting her lead.  Manuel took notice too, and knew Aleida wanted to join him.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Amor, te voy a comprar un buquecito para pescar<br/>En nuestra luna de miel<br/>Amor, te voy a comprar un trencito para viajar<br/>En nuestra luna de miel<br/>Escucha lo que dice al caminar..<br/>Nos canta el Chipi chipi para bailar..<br/><br/></em>
</p><p>In one swift movement, Manuel let go of Aleida so she could join Fred, and Rosa let go of Fred and began dancing with her great-grandfather.  Fred’s arm snaked around her body as he held her close and danced with her, letting go of every inhibition he had. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Chipi chipi, <strong>eh</strong>!. Chipi chipi, <strong>eh</strong>!<br/>Aprende a bailar el ritmo del Chipi chipi<br/>Pichipi chipi, <strong>eh</strong>!  Pichipi chipi, <strong>eh</strong>!<br/>Aprende a bailar el ritmo del Chipi chipi</em>
</p><p> </p><p>For Aleida, this was happiness.  Being with Fred.  Dancing to Cuban music.  Her stomach full of Cuban food. </p><p> </p><p>This was happiness.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Late that night, Fred noticed that Aleida had a tattoo.  It was in between her shoulder blades, on her back, about the size of the palm of his hand – and he had a big palm.  It was done impeccably well – the shading was incredibly realistic.  He couldn’t make out what it was at first, and he started to trace the area of it with his fingertips after Aleida had collapsed onto the bed – half on, half off his body – after they made love.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it?” he asked softly.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s the photo of the monk burning himself.  The cover of the first Rage Against the Machine album.”</p><p> </p><p>“Rage Against the Machine is your favourite band?” he asked.  He figured as such since she had the album art tattooed on her.  She nodded her head, confirming his suspicions.  “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugged slightly.  “I’m angry.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Aleida found herself in a bar downtown sipping on a long island iced tea as she stood in between Fred’s legs as he sat on a barstool.  A few of his teammates were there – Auston, Andreas Johnsson, Mitch Marner, and Kasperi Kapanen.  Steph hadn’t shown up yet – and maybe she wouldn’t knowing that Aleida was there – but Auston was already chatting up his usual girls, and Kasperi’s apparent new squeeze Saylor – an Instagram model, of course – brought a group of her friends along who Aleida knew <em>very</em> well.  Aleida rolled her eyes as they entered one by one, their chain bags, false eyelashes, and over-injected lips making her laugh.  To each their own, but at the same time, they were so stereotypical of Toronto party girls that it was almost comical. </p><p> </p><p>“You feeling okay?” she could hear Fred ask softly as his hand gripped the back of her thigh. </p><p> </p><p>“They keep staring at me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kasperi’s fivesome,” she gave one a glare.  “Saylor, Gina, Amanda, Sadie, and Jen.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Unfortunately,” she rolled her eyes.  “Saylor’s gotten some work done with my sister – same with Sadie and Jen.  Gina’s a known problem.  She dated a friend of a friend and was an utter psychopath.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can I ask you a question?” Fred asked.  Aleida looked at him to continue.  “Why do you care to know who has gotten work done with your mom or sister?  Like, what does it matter?”</p><p> </p><p>“People have been obsessed with my body for as long as I can remember.  And because of that, I’ve been accused of it – of getting plastic surgery to look the way I do – and girls like them made my life a literal living hell as they tried to dig as far as they could to prove it.  But they couldn’t because I never did.  Nobody could fathom it so they decided to spread nasty rumours about me instead.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you think you should break the cycle of that?” Fred asked.  “Like, not participate in it since it ruined your life or whatever.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Aleida said abruptly.  “That’s not my job.”</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t that everybody’s job?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not when they make your life a living hell.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know if I agree with you,” Fred said.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to.  I’m not changing my mind.”  Aleida took a quick sip of her drink.  “I’m not asking you to agree with my choices, Fred,” she said, suddenly feeling annoyed.  “You have no idea what I’ve been through.  What’s been said about me and what girls like that did to me in the past.  You have no idea.”</p><p> </p><p>“But my point is <em>those</em> girls aren’t doing it <em>right now</em>,” he tried again.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, but they are,” Aleida said.  “Believe me.  They are.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred looked back at them quickly.  He wasn’t so sure.  They seemed to be minding their own business.  But then again, he didn’t know Aleida’s world.  He had no clue, no concept of not only <em>this</em> world, but the different worlds she had to inhabit; the different worlds that still ate away at her.  “Aleida, I just want you to be as happy as you were when we were at the church.”</p><p> </p><p>She looked Fred in the eye, breaking eye contact with the girls.  It was the first time in a long time someone had said they wanted her to be happy.  She almost didn’t know how to address it.  She almost didn’t know what to say.  “I know you do.”</p><p> </p><p>“If you want to leave, we can,” he offered.  “We’ve been here long enough, and Auston’s preoccupied now,” he nodded his head over to his friend.  “He won’t be mad.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida considered it, wondering if she really wanted to go.  She decided that she did.  She didn’t need to be around these girls – and she was pretty sure the second she left, Steph would show up anyway.  “Let me finish my drink – I’m not paying almost twenty bucks for a cocktail without finishing it.”</p><p> </p><p>When she left for a final trip to the washroom, she looked at herself in the mirror, her makeup making her skin looked dewy, but her bold red lip giving her the slightest edge.  Aleida knew she looked good virtually always – she wasn’t going to be subtle or pretend she didn’t – and she knew it affected people’s perception of her, because they thought she was always <em>on</em>.  Like, she was always <em>Aleida Casillas</em>.  She was never just a girl from Toronto to them – she was always <em>Aleida Casillas</em>, a persona that occupied the minds of so many people that they had preconceived notions of her before they even met her.  She wasn’t an idiot.  She saw the looks people gave her when they saw her in a crowded room; the slight raise of their eyebrows when they saw her or were introduced, like <em>‘Oh my God, it’s really her!  I’m really meeting her!’</em>.  It was either that or a prodding – a push to see if she really lived up to every expectation, every negative stereotype, every negative story they heard about her being “bitchy” and a “handful”; another girl with an inflated sense of self, an inflated ego, with too much money to spend to care.</p><p> </p><p>When she left, she saw Auston and Kasperi speaking to Fred, which meant the Kasperi Fivesome were left unattended.  Before she could look around the room to check where they were, she heard them instead. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey Aleida,” it was Saylor who said the words.  The entire group approached her, some more timid than others.  Saylor and Gina were the confident ones.  Saylor because she sucked Kasperi’s dick; Gina because she was just a psychopath. </p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” she said abruptly.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t believe the rumours are true.  You’re here with Fred,” Saylor said.</p><p> </p><p>“So?  That’s none of your fucking business,” Aleida said harshly.  “Shouldn’t you be taking more asinine videos of yourself posing in bikinis for Instagram?”</p><p> </p><p>“Modelling seems to be working for <em>you</em>,” Gina butt in.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida rolled her eyes.  “Are you really trying to start something, Gina?  You don’t even want to <em>seem</em> above all the drama?”  Out of the corner of her eye, Aleida could see the boys looking over at them.  Fred was probably getting scared.  She focused her attention back on Saylor.  “I thought you and your group would be classier than Kasperi’s last.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just think it’s funny that you make fun of Saylor when you’ve done modelling too,” Gina butt in again.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida couldn’t help but laugh.  “The type of modelling I do and the type of modelling Saylor does are <em>worlds</em> away from each other.”</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Fred and Kasperi were beside her.  Fred looked down at her and to the girls.  “Everything cool?” Kasperi asked cautiously.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it though?  You think it’s dumb she does bikini shoots but we’ve all seen your pictures for Genevieve Jones.  I mean, what would Gabriela and Matias think?” Gina arched her brow.  “Would they want to see pictures like that of their tía?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida’s eyes went dark – darker than anything Fred had ever seen.  On the outside she remained calm, but Fred could tell a fire had been ignited inside.  Something switched inside Aleida.  She leaned into Gina to get closer to her ear, but was still far away enough so everybody within the close vicinity could hear her words.  “If you ever bring up my niece and nephew again, I will slit your throat in a church.  Do you understand me?”</p><p> </p><p>Gina giggled.  “I’d like to see you try.”</p><p> </p><p>“Try me,” Aleida shrugged her shoulders, smiling politely at her.  “Either that or I call your sugar daddy to stop giving you your candy, fucking coke whore.  Maybe I’ll call the cops too.  You choose.”</p><p> </p><p>Kasperi’s eyes went wide as he stepped back.  <em>Everybody’s</em> did.  “Ex<em>cuse</em> me?” Gina’s jaw dropped.</p><p> </p><p>“Whoops!” Aleida smiled.  “I bet you didn’t want Kasperi knowing about that.  It’s okay – you know what – I’ll do the heavy lifting for you and go ahead and tell Auston because we all know you want to suck him off in the bathroom—”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida—”</p><p> </p><p>“Is <em>that</em> why you got the nose job?  Did you get coke nose already at the tender age of 21?  God, even <em>Saylor</em> hasn’t even developed one yet—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Aleida</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s do this, actually – you bring up my niece and nephew ever again, and I tell everybody you snorted your first rails off a Louis Vuitton your escorting pimp bought you that time last year you got <em>really</em> desperate.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Aleida!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s get one thing straight, alright?  I could put $10,000 under my Manolos and you’d eat it up and fucking <em>like</em> it,” Aleida was scathing.  “You’d be so fucking desperate for it you’d do anything.  You’re <em>so desperate</em> to be relevant and <em>so desperate</em> to have your name on my mouth that you would do anything, and I’m here to tell you the game doesn’t work like that with desperate coke whores like you.  So don’t you <em>dare</em> put my name in your mouth <em>ever again</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>And with that, Aleida turned on her heels and walked out of the bar.</p><p> </p><p>Fred followed after her, his long strides catching up to her fairly quickly.  He couldn’t believe what had just happened.  He couldn’t believe the complete 180 she’d done in mere minutes.  The vitriol that came out of her mouth – however true – and the way that she said it.  The tone of her voice.  The <em>confidence</em> in her voice that with her knowledge, she could ruin someone’s life.  The fact that she couldn’t do it so <em>easily</em> and not even hesitate.  Sometimes, he thought that she was just as bad as the girls she seemed to hate; the girls that apparently caused her so much trouble.  But at the same time, he wondered: if she found this acceptable, what had people said about her?  How bad had it been it against her?  How bad was it against her, currently?  He didn’t know what to think anymore.  He didn’t know where he stood on everything and he was more confused than ever.  He had seen her at her best, dancing to Cuban music with him and a great-grandfather in the basement of a Catholic church; and now, he felt like he’d seen her at her worst.  The most despicable.  The most reprehensible behaviour.  He didn’t know if he could justify it in any way.  He didn’t know if he <em>wanted</em> to justify it in any way.  How could he?  “Aleida.  <em>Aleida!</em>” he yelled after her.  “Aleida, what the <em>fuck</em> is wrong with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“A lot, can’t you tell?” she yelled over her shoulder, not breaking her stride.</p><p> </p><p>Fred caught up with her.  He grabbed her elbow gently and pulled her into an illuminated side alley – dumpsters just a few feet away from them.  How symbolic, she thought.  Fred glared down at her.  “What the <em>fuck</em> was that in there?”</p><p> </p><p>“The truth.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Don’t</em>,” he cautioned.  “Not with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not with you <em>what</em>?” she demanded.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re fucking past that.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Not with you what?!</em>” she repeated.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop being <em>Aleida</em> with me and start being Aleida,” he demanded.  “What the hell was all that?  Why do you constantly feel the need to do that?  To <em>do</em> that to people?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I <em>can</em>, Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>“What gives you the right, Aleida?”</p><p> </p><p>She looked at him indignantly.  “I’m going home.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going home and you better not follow me,” she turned on her heels again and began walking.</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida!” Fred called out to her again.  “Aleida!  <em>Aleida!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t bother looking back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fred found himself in Aleida’s bed.  Above her.  Body looming.  Lips kissing every inch of exposed skin.  Worshipping her.  Making sure she knew how much he was enjoying this; how much he wanted her to enjoy this. </p><p> </p><p>She scratched her nails across his shoulder blades and down his back in approval.</p><p> </p><p>The sighs and soft moans she was letting out were driving him crazy.  When she’d tug on his hair – like she did in the car – he would almost go feral, but he knew he wanted to take this slow and steady.  To show Aleida that he was with her for more than just her body, unlike so many others in her past; to show her that she deserved more than what she had experienced before.  To show her that he saw her in whatever way she wanted to be seen. </p><p> </p><p>She unbuttoned his dress shirt and slid her hands underneath the fabric, pushing it off his shoulders delicately.  He helped at the end, tossing it onto the floor beside his bed, joining his suit jacket.  Her hands wandered along his broad chest.  “God, Fred,” she breathed out.  “You’re so <em>big</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred couldn’t help but smirk.  He leaned down to kiss her again as she began to work on his belt, quickly unlooping it and pulling the zipper down.  He did the same to her pants, sitting back on his knees and slipping them off delicately before his body loomed over hers again.  They kissed and kissed and kissed, with Aleida still scratching her nails down his back.  His hands snaked behind her to unclasp her bra, giving him access to her perfect breasts. </p><p> </p><p>“Freddiiiieeee,” she huffed after his mouth had paid particular attention to her breasts for a while.  “Freddie…Freddiiieeeeee…”</p><p> </p><p>He was silent.  He was rock hard at this point and with her hands dancing along the band of his boxers he knew she was getting antsy.  He kissed every inch of exposed skin down her body until he reached her lace-topped underwear, pulling them off gently.  She pulled him back up so she could continue to kiss him, apparently not wanting the alternative.  “Touch me, Freddie,” she breathed out.  “I want you to <em>touch</em> me.”</p><p> </p><p>He complied.  Hands all over her body.  Hands <em>everywhere</em>.  More sighs from Aleida meant more hands from Fred.  More hands from Fred meant more hands from Aleida, too.  She slipped off his boxers.  Her nails scratched all the way back up his back.  She gripped at the skin of his shoulder blades.  He wrapped her legs around his torso.</p><p> </p><p>“I love the way you touch me, Freddie.”</p><p> </p><p>Her words caused Fred to shudder.  He gave her one last kiss before looking her in the eye as he entered her.  Her grip on the skin of his shoulder blades got tighter.  Her eyes rolled back.  “Ffffrrreeeeddddd…fffffu…fffuuuuck.”  He shuddered again.  He gave her a quick kiss on the lips as she opened her eyes to look at him again.  “<em>God</em>, Freddie.”</p><p> </p><p>As he bottomed out, she took a couple of moments to adjust to his size – and not just the size of his body over her.  She had never been with anybody like Fred; she had never been physical with someone who was like…him.  She didn’t know the words to describe him.  Especially now, above her.  Looking into her eyes.  Moving within her.  It was completely different than what happened in the car.  There was something else happening here, in his bed, that she didn’t quite comprehend yet, but it was something she knew would change something within her.  </p><p> </p><p>As he began moving in and out of her slowly, he looked her in the eye again.  “You okay?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>She nodded her head quickly.  “You’re so good to me, Freddie,” she whispered.  “You’re so good to me.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know what to say – what he <em>could</em> say in that moment.  So he continued to move in and out of her, to revel in the feeling of her legs wrapped around him.  As her nails scratched down his back, he grunted at the feeling.  He watched as she closed her eyes again, and felt one of her hands snake around to her core, starting to rub circles.</p><p> </p><p>He grabbed it.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he groaned out, bringing her hand up above her head and holding it there.</p><p> </p><p>She looked shocked as he did so, not believing he would do that.  But then she nodded her head knowingly.  “Make love to me, Freddie.”</p><p> </p><p>He began thrusting in and out of her harder until he could feel her walls clench around him.  She let out a string of expletives followed by his name over and over as her body began shaking while the orgasm ran through her.  He came with her too, quiet but powerful, letting out just as many expletives and shaking just as much until he collapsed onto her.  Her legs tightened around him.  Her nails dug into his skin.  They lay there silently.</p><p> </p><p>Fred thought about her words.  <em>Make love to me</em>.  He wondered if she had uttered those words to anybody before, and if she had, if they complied.  He wondered if he was the first one to treat her this way – to <em>make love</em> to her instead of just…well, <em>use</em> her.  He wondered if she expected it from anyone else, or if she only expected it from him.  He wondered what she had to be feeling to make her say those words: <em>make love to me</em>.  Not <em>fuck me</em>.  <em>Make love to me</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Fred thought about everything she had told him up until now.  About being looked at, but not really seen.  About her eating disorder.  About certain groups of people trying their hardest to make her life a living hell.  About people being obsessed with her body and practically sexualizing her the day she turned legal.  He thought about what she had to go through, and while other people had to go through much more, he understood how much it all ate away at her.  How it killed her spirit, her vivacity, and left her a shell of what she <em>could</em> be.  It left her rough.  Fred thought about the concept of ‘fixing’, and how some people relied on others to ‘fix’ them.  Aleida wasn’t that person.  He knew she had it in her to fix herself and that nobody else – let alone <em>him</em> – was going to do that for her. </p><p> </p><p>Fred thought about what Aleida said to that Gina girl.  He thought about their fight afterwards and how he asked her what the fuck was wrong with her; how Aleida stomped away and demanded he not follow her.  They hadn’t addressed that night.  They hadn’t addressed much of anything, really, to do with what happened.  Fred knew that wasn’t a good thing – he knew she had to be held accountable, or at least explain her actions, for him to understand why she went off like that.  He knew the underlying and root issues, sure, but he felt like there was something more. </p><p> </p><p>But he knew she wouldn’t want to.  At least at face value.</p><p> </p><p>He slid off her slightly, his huge body still snuggled against her.  An arm draped over her torso.  “What was your piano teacher’s name?” he found himself asking.</p><p> </p><p>He could feel Aleida’s body stiffen slightly beside him.  Her eyes looked at him briefly but her head didn’t turn towards him.  “Yelena.”</p><p> </p><p>“When did you meet her?”</p><p> </p><p>“I started piano when I was five.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred nodded his head.  “And she was a saint?”</p><p> </p><p>“She put up with me for all these years.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida’s tone told Fred she didn’t want to talk about it, but he persisted.  “What did you mean when we first met and you told me that she was the only one who saw you?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida finally turned her head to look at him.  “Are we really going to talk about my love for my piano teacher after <em>that</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>He could see her mulling over the idea in her mind.  He could tell she was hesitant.  “Well…what do you want to know?”</p><p> </p><p>“What did you mean about her seeing you?” he repeated his question.</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly that,” Aleida said.  She couldn’t believe they were doing this naked.  “She…she gave me an outlet to express myself in a way that didn’t use my body or my beauty.  I had to rely on sheer hard work and talent, and she understood that.  She motivated me to do that – to focus on something that I could <em>create</em> versus something I already had that I could <em>use</em>.  She saw that I wanted people to focus on something else besides my beauty and she took that and ran with it.  She just…she <em>saw</em> me.  She saw me for what I could be, not for what I was.”</p><p> </p><p>“And that made you love her more than your parents?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” she stressed.  Her voice became strained.  “Well – I mean – at the time.  There were times.  I know that’s probably cruel to say, especially since I benefit tremendously from who my parents are.  But I did.  Half the time my dad wasn’t home because he was on call or on some 12-hour surgery he was going to get recognition for.  The other half of the time my mom wasn’t around because she was injecting new boobs or lip fillers into people and running her business.  And I don’t fault them for that – I really don’t.  But that left my sister and I practically raised by a plethora of nannies or house staff and I hated it.  Yelena was my stability.  Yelena was the reason I ever wanted to achieve anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who—”</p><p> </p><p>“And then, you have to think, when I started, well, <em>blooming</em>, and everybody was focusing on my body and my beauty rather than what I had <em>in </em>me, Yelena was the only one with a consistent message to never change myself.  When I would complain to her about how I felt my mom favoured Alejandra over me because Alejandra turned out to be just like her, she stayed consistent.  When she found out about my eating issues, and the trouble I was having with it, and my dad trying to help me, she was consistent.  When people started to know me and talk about me and use me and…and <em>whatever</em>, she was the only one who brought me back down to Earth.  I’d sit at the piano and let everything go and she’d <em>let</em> me.  She’d let me and she’d be there and she’d <em>listen</em> and she’d <em>see</em> me.  And I <em>needed</em> that.  Nobody seemed to know how desperately I needed that, but she did.”</p><p> </p><p>“So when she saw you,” Fred began, “what did she see?”</p><p> </p><p>There was a moment of silence.  Of hesitation, almost, on the part of Aleida.  “She saw that I’m just a girl trying to navigate her way like everyone else.  That I’m just a little boat looking for a harbour.” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“We’re really looking forward to it, Frederik.  My husband is a big fan.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida didn’t seem too enthused.”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s just being a moody teenager,” Alejandra said through the phone.  Fred didn’t even know how she got his number.  He assumed she stole Aleida’s phone to get it.  “I’ve told her about it so there should be no issue.  We’re planning to eat at 6:30.  Is that okay with you?</p><p> </p><p>“That’s fine,” Fred forced out.  “Um, listen, Alejandra…are you sure Aleida is okay with this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why wouldn’t she be?”</p><p> </p><p>“I just know how protective she is of family,” he said.  “Regardless of her…feelings…or whatever issues,” he said.  He thought back to what she said to Gina when Gina brought up her niece and nephew.</p><p> </p><p>“Frederik, it’s not a big deal,” Alejandra said dismissively.  “It’s not like you’re some random guy I’m inviting over for dinner with our family.  You’re…I don’t know…<em>you</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Alejandra and her husband, Oliver, lived in a mansion on Harper Gardens in Moore Park, perched on top of the hill looking over Moore Park Ravine.  The house was old on the outside, but brand new on the inside, with grand principal rooms and expensive furnishings.  Oliver was a lawyer with his own firm, Rowe &amp; Parsons LLP, and came from old money – something something about John Graves Simcoe, something something about Spadina House and Ardwold Gate, and something something about Moore Park.  He and Alejandra made more money than you could shake a stick at.  Their kids – Aleida’s niece and nephew – were adorable; Gabriela was eight and Matias was six-and-a-half, and they were goofy and polite.</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Felipe Casillas was tall and lanky, smiled generally, and was clearly an upstanding member of society.  He had short, well-kept hair, think lips, and crow’s feet.  His wife, Dr. Leonor Casillas, was more glamourous, with long tight curls and perfectly sculpted cheekbones that, despite her profession, Fred could tell were natural.  She didn’t have an inch of work done on herself.  Fred didn’t know whether expecting a plastic surgeon to have work done was malicious or not, but he was pleasantly surprised that for someone who ‘enhanced’ people’s faces for a living, she let the test of time show on her face. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida didn’t look like either of her parents. </p><p> </p><p>“My son in law tells me you’re a hockey player, Frederik,” Leonor said as everybody sat down at the formal dining table.  Her voice was an elegant baritone.  Their plates, full of food, were already on the table – a generous slice of beef wellington with garlic mashed potatoes and broccoli – made by the cook currently working in the kitchen.  Fred wondered if he worked for Oliver and Alejandra full-time.  “A goaltender?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes ma’am.  For the Toronto Maple Leafs.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you enjoy your job?”</p><p> </p><p>“Y—Yes,” Fred almost giggled out.  “I love my job.”</p><p> </p><p>“So how on earth did a hockey player manage to meet my daughter?” Felipe asked as he unfolded his napkin and set it on his lap.</p><p> </p><p>“I told you we met at an event I sang at,” Aleida butt in quickly.  “Why don’t you believe me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I do believe you, darling, I’d just like to hear Frederik’s side of the story too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Y—Yeah, she was hired to perform at one of the smaller charity events we hosted for the MLSE Launchpad, and I met her there.  She uh, she sounded amazing,” he lied through his teeth. </p><p> </p><p>“Aleida has always been an excellent musician,” Oliver nodded his head. </p><p> </p><p>“A smaller event – so not the Night With Blue and White,” Alejandra clarified.</p><p> </p><p>“No.  That’s usually in January.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oliver and I attend that one,” she explained.  “His law firm buys a table.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred saw the look of strain on Aleida’s face as Alejandra spoke.  She was looking down at her plate, perhaps biting her tongue.  “That’s awesome that you’re fortunate enough to go.”</p><p> </p><p>“And Oliver tells me you’re from Denmark, Frederik,” Felipe inserted himself back into the discussion.  “Whereabouts?”</p><p> </p><p>“Herning.”</p><p> </p><p>“And your parents?  What did they do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, they played hockey as well,” he reached out for his wine glass to take a quick sip.  “My entire family plays hockey.  My younger brother Sebastian plays for our local team in Denmark; my younger sister Amalie plays for the women’s national team and Maine; and the baby – Valdemar – plays for the under-17 team.”</p><p> </p><p>“A sporting family!” Leonor smiled.  “How lovely.”</p><p> </p><p>Frederik thought so.  He loved his family more than anything.  And with everybody getting busier and busier these days, and <em>older</em>, family time became more important to him.  It became part of the glue that held him together; the balance he so desperately needed.  “I like to think so,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>Dinner conversation erred on the side of extremely polite but extremely inquisitive.  Oliver asked questions about the Leafs and Fred tried to answer with as much mystery as he could muster; Leonor continued to inquire about his family, specifically his parents, and what they were doing now that they no longer played hockey; Alejandra was the one focused on him and Aleida the most, asking questions about them and what they got up to when they hung out together.  It was Felipe who was a little bit more forthcoming about the Casillas family – not focusing so much on the Andersen family, or Fred himself, but on his family’s story and his own work as a renowned cardiologist, along with his wife’s work as a plastic surgeon. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida didn’t speak much.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Alejandra and her husband, Oliver, lived in a mansion on Harper Gardens in Moore Park, perched on top of the hill looking over Moore Park Ravine.  Alejandra could have never moved too far from their parents, whose own sprawling mansion on Roxborough Drive in Rosedale was just a half an hour walk away.  Oliver was a partner in a law firm and made an exorbitant amount of money on top of his inheritance from his wealthy, old-money family (specifically his great-great-uncle, who died wifeless and childless) who had helped establish Moore Park or something – Aleida always forgot.  For a city obsessed with money and status, Oliver Rowe was the perfect bachelor, and Alejandra Casillas was the luckiest girl in all the land.  Their match was one that oozed wealth, power, and status.  Everybody was obsessed with them.  They were the talk of the town – in a good way.  Their dining room had seen more dinner parties than family dinners.</p><p> </p><p>The only thing Aleida was particularly excited about was seeing her niece and nephew.  Gabriela and Matias were the loves of her life, and her greatest teachers, besides Yelena.  If she could have dinner with just them and Fred, she’d be a happy camper.  But it wasn’t meant to be. </p><p> </p><p>When she and Fred were ushered into the house, shoes off and jackets hung and handshakes had, Aleida held her breath.  Her parents were already there – her father trying to dress casually in a sportsjacket, her mother dolled up and in a calf-length dress.  Aleida saw the way they looked at Fred; she saw them eye him, notice his red hair, his height and width and stature.  She wanted to get in their head and know what they were thinking, but in the same vein, didn’t care what they thought.</p><p> </p><p>“My son in law tells me you’re a hockey player, Frederik,” Leonor began the interrogation as everybody sat down at the formal dining table.  Aleida tried to decipher her tone.  “A goaltender?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes ma’am.  For the Toronto Maple Leafs,” Frederik answered.  She wished he wasn’t so polite – ma’aming everyone like he was the Prince of Denmark.  She wished he had a couple teeth knocked out for good measure. </p><p> </p><p>“And you enjoy your job?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida couldn’t believe the gall of her mother to ask such a question.  Did <em>she</em> enjoy injecting people’s foreheads with Botox?  Did <em>she</em> enjoy handling double D implants every week?  Did <em>she</em> enjoy putting lip fillers into every fresh-faced eighteen-year-old with a new condo on King Street West thanks to dad’s down payment?  She was about to speak up when Fred answered, with a slight giggle, “Y—Yes, I love my job.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida calmed down slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“So how on earth did a hockey player manage to meet my daughter?”</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t calm anymore. </p><p> </p><p>“I told you we met at an event I sang at,” she butt in quickly.  She knew her tone sounded a bit indignant but it wasn’t a question her father should be asking.  She’d already told him how they met.  Well…a <em>version</em> of how they met.  She wasn’t exactly going to tell them the exact story.  There was no need.  “Why don’t you believe me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I do believe you, darling,” he looked at her quickly, eyes judging, “I’d just like to hear Frederik’s side of the story too.”</p><p> </p><p>At that point, she wished she could communicate telepathically with Fred across the table.  <em>Please, for the love of all things holy, say something at least vaguely similar to what I told them.</em>  “Y—Yeah, she was hired to perform at one of the smaller charity events we hosted for the MLSE Launchpad, and I met her there.  She uh, she sounded amazing,” he lied.  She thanked God. </p><p> </p><p>“Aleida has always been an excellent musician,” Oliver nodded his head. </p><p> </p><p>“A smaller event – so not the Night With Blue and White,” Alejandra clarified.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida stiffened.  She looked at her sister, her emotions bubbling and threatening to spill over.  Of course Alejandra would clarify that it was a <em>smaller</em> event – that Aleida and The Havana Cats wouldn’t be able to book the Night With the Blue and White, meaning that Aleida or her band weren’t good enough, that <em>Aleida</em> wasn’t good enough, that despite all her talent and work she could never—</p><p> </p><p>“No.  That’s usually in January,” Fred’s words interrupted her thoughts.  Apparently he didn’t think too much of it.</p><p> </p><p>“Oliver and I attend that one,” Alejandra gloated.  <em>Of course</em> they attended one of the biggest charity galas in the city.  “His law firm buys a table.”  <em>Of course they do</em>.  </p><p> </p><p>Aleida looked down at her plate – at the stupidly pretentious beef wellington on her plate – to calm herself.  “That’s awesome that you’re fortunate enough to go,” she heard Fred’s voice say politely.</p><p> </p><p>“And Oliver tells me you’re from Denmark, Frederik,” Felipe inserted himself back into the discussion.  Aleida rolled her eyes before looking back up.  “Whereabouts?”</p><p> </p><p>“Herning.”</p><p> </p><p>“And your parents?  What did they do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, they played hockey as well.”  Aleida watched as Fred reached out for his wine glass to take a quick sip.  “My entire family plays hockey.  My younger brother Sebastian plays for our local team in Denmark; my younger sister Amalie plays for the women’s national team and Maine; and the baby – Valdemar – plays for the under-17 team.”</p><p> </p><p>“A sporting family!” Leonor smiled.  “How lovely.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida could tell the smile was forced.  That her mother probably thought ‘sporting families’ were</p><p> </p><p>Dinner conversation erred on the side of too inquisitive for Aleida’s liking.  Fred tried to be polite about it all, to make a good impression she guessed, but when Oliver began asking questions about the Leafs, Aleida wanted to slap him – it wasn’t like Fred was going to divulge insider information to <em>him</em> over dinner.  For how great of a lawyer and father he was, he could still be stupid sometimes.  Her mother kept asking about his family, and Aleida knew it was because her mother thought ‘sporting families’ were an interesting subculture, not just normal people whose kids happened to strike big.  Alejandra kept focusing on Fred and Aleida the most, which made her want to vomit all over the beef wellington, because <em>it was none of her fucking business</em>.  Her dad focused on telling Fred about the family, some cute or funny stories from when she and Alejandra were young – like a typical dad, really – but then he segued into his work as a cardiologist and Leonor’s work as a plastic surgeon, and, well, he lost the plot.</p><p> </p><p>It was a very specific form of torture only Aleida could experience.</p><p> </p><p>Somebody had cleared their plates but Aleida followed him into the kitchen away, desperate to get away, even just momentarily, from the dinner table.  She looked on the countertop near the stove and saw that her mother had made an assortment of pastelitos de guayaba, while the chef had prepared a really posh-looking arroz con leche. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what you’re so moody about, darling,” she heard her mother’s voice as she entered the kitchen.  Leonor walked directly to her, pulling the plate of pastelitos towards her.  “Did you not want to do this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not particularly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida shrugged her shoulders.  “Alejandra forced us into it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well if he’s your boyfriend we would have met him eventually, right?” Leonor asked.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not my boyfriend,” Aleida said as a knee-jerk reaction, regretting it immediately.  Her mother gave her a look.  “We haven’t put a label on it.  I’m not sure what it is—”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s your boyfriend, Aleida.  He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.”  Aleida wanted to scream.  “I don’t know what you’ve been nervous about all night.  He’s a perfectly lovely guy and we’re perfectly lovely people.  You were so nervous you barely ate.  All that food going to waste.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida wanted to scream even louder.  “Don’t you dare say that I don’t eat,” she warned. </p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I worked <em>really fucking hard</em> to get to a place where I <em>can</em> eat.”</p><p> </p><p>Leonor stared at her daughter.  She picked up the plate of pastelitos before turning around.  “Are you going to come back and sit or will Frederik have to endure us <em>alone</em>?” she asked before disappearing out of the kitchen and back into the dining room.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“They love you, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida looked at Fred as she sat on top of the counter.  He was finishing pouring wine into the two glasses he’d set out.  The smallest of smiles played on his lips when he set the bottle down and looked at her.  “I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“You say that but I don’t think you really grasp it,” he said.  “They aren’t out to get you like you think they are.  They care for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that why my mother told me I could get lip injections if I wanted and she wouldn’t tell anybody?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred digressed.  “Okay, so maybe that was a lapse in judgement, but—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Maaaaybe a lapse in judgement</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida…” Fred said, sauntering over to her.  He handed her a glass of wine and moved to stand between her legs.  “Sometimes I think you need to be more aware of how good you have it,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>She glared at him in spite of the fact that his body was so physically close to her.  “I <em>am</em> aware of how good I have it.  I’m, like, <em>hyperaware</em> of how good my life is.  The problem is—”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, your mother could have been an alcoholic like Bee’s,” Fred cut her off.  “You could have grown up in homeless shelters or in rooming houses with other alcoholics or druggies instead of in Rosedale with two doctor parents and a pretty hefty inheritance.”</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t some sort of who-had-it-worse Olympics, Frederik.  I’m allowed to feel this way.  I have just as much of a right as Bee.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred leaned his head down to put a quick kiss on her lips that she didn’t reciprocate.  “I didn’t say you weren’t allowed.  I’m just saying it’s not as bad as you think it is.  They love you, Aleida, and you need to realize that.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida sighed, leaning her head on Freddie’s broad chest.  She didn’t feel like fighting with him.  Not when he endured a few hours with her family.  He should be rewarded rather than punished.  But she needed to make a point.  She needed to have the last word.  It was <em>her</em> family, after all.  “Freddie…”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you please just let me have this.”</p><p> </p><p>She could feel his chest rise and fall from a giggle.  He put his hand underneath her chin and kissed her again.  She reciprocated this time, however small.  “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>She laid her head against his chest again, bringing the wine glass up to sip as they stayed in that position, silent, for a few minutes.  His body exuded heat, and his chest was as wide as a fucking California King bed.  For a moment, Aleida envied every girl who came before her for being able to lay their head on his chest.  When she raised her head, she decided to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, making sure not to spill her wine all over him.  She was wearing a skirt, so his hands slip up her thighs. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s your family like, Fred?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.  “What are your parents, your siblings like?”</p><p> </p><p>She kissed him as an incentive to tell her.  “Sebastian’s a terror, but he’s alright,” he smiled slightly, thinking about his younger brother.  He watched as Aleida smiled too.  “You second siblings are something else.  He’s hockey obsessed – I mean we all are – but he sometimes doesn’t know how to switch it off.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like you rubbed off on him.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred scrunched his face and gave her a quick kiss.  “Amalie is smart as a whip.  She’s the boss, really.  She puts all of herself into everything she does and she’s rewarded for it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is she allowed to date?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe,” Fred said, but then proceeded to shake his head, causing Aleida to laugh again.</p><p> </p><p>“And the youngest?”</p><p> </p><p>“Valedemar is only fifteen.  He’s just a baby.”</p><p> </p><p>“A teenage baby.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, he’s always the baby,” Fred clarified.  “God, I still remember the day he was born.  There’s such an age gap between us that I remember everything.  I don’t care how old he gets – I’m still gonna remember holding him in my arms.  Seeing him is always a highlight – more than the others, almost.  Cause he’s like a mini-me.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida almost couldn’t handle the look on his face and his tone of voice as he spoke about his siblings.  She couldn’t help but kiss him again.  “And growing up in Denmark?”</p><p> </p><p>“The dream,” he whispered silently, looking away like he was going into one at that very moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me,” she begged.</p><p> </p><p>“The absolute dream.  Just…just family, and our house, and hockey, and all the best things you could think of.  The town, the people, the nature and scenery, the weekend road trips to Copenhagen.  My mom and dad would allow us to take sweets with us in the car.  We’d rent bikes and explore the city…go see the palaces.  Boat rides.  Then have a nice family dinner.  It was the dream.”  Fred looked at her again, pecking the tip of her nose.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what growing up should be like,” Aleida lamented.  “That’s what a real family is like.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred furrowed his brows.  It was one thing to be angry at her parents and sister, but it was another to declare the statement that they were not normal.  Sure, their circumstances were extraordinary, with all the money and the jobs and whatnot, but they were completely normal in terms of their family dynamics.  It was normal to not always get along with everyone.  It was Aleida’s almost contempt for them that made her situation different.  At least to him.  “What was it like growing up in Havana?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida looked surprised.  “You remember me telling you that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I do,” Fred said.  “What was it like?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida sighed.  “We had – <em>have</em> – a huge private mansion in Miramar.  With staff and everything.  Even when we’re not there my parents keep them employed on a good wage.  We’d have pool parties all the time.  <em>All the time</em>.  I’m actually pretty sure my parents hosted Castro once, but they don’t talk about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Seriously?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida nodded her head.  “We’d just hang out at the house or around Miramar.  My mom would take me around to the cafes or the public squares in Old Havana to listen to Cuban music when she wasn’t on a call or something.  Same thing with my dad.  They really love Cuban culture, but their jobs…their jobs became too demanding.  We’d go but we couldn’t actually <em>enjoy</em> it, you know.”  She paused, thinking about how it started to seem like a chore for her parents to leave Toronto to go back to their home country.  They would measure the time by how much money they could have made – especially Leonor.  Felipe, not so much.  “But whenever I was there, I absolutely loved it.  Like you said, it was the dream.  Havana was where I could just…let everything go.  Become a new me.  Or a <em>different</em> me, at least.  Like a spiritual cleansing.  I always felt at peace there.”</p><p> </p><p>“See…our childhoods weren’t very different.  It’s all in the perspective,” Fred said.  Aleida wasn’t so sure.  His family were still a lot more normal than hers in her eyes.  “You could have that again, you know.  That happiness.  That <em>peace</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wish.”</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It all began at a Leafs and Lady Leafs dinner that Aleida couldn’t attend. </p><p> </p><p>Stephanie Lachance was a woman on a mission.  She was determined to speak to Fred, even if it was the last thing she did that night.  This was her only opportunity.  Aleida – <em>finally</em> – wasn’t with him, which meant she could ask him about her in peace.  No interruptions.  No looking over her shoulder.  Finally get to the bottom of why he kept her around even though she was so…<em>toxic</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Steph hadn’t forgotten what Aleida had said to her and her friends that night she showed up to the Leaf game.  She also hadn’t forgotten the other times Aleida came to games, usually hogging Bee, completing ignoring Steph and Saylor and pretty much anyone else.  She hadn’t forgotten the way Aleida spoke to her, the rudeness of her voice and the accusations she made of her being a classless Western girl.  Steph had heard about what Aleida said to one of Saylor’s friends, too – Gina was her name.  Saylor told her all about it.  How Aleida had made a big scene.  How she accused Gina of being an escort, and called her a coke whore.  Gina told Saylor, who told her, that Aleida was probably on coke herself that night.  Gina wouldn’t put it out of the realm of possibility.  Steph wouldn’t go that far.</p><p> </p><p>But she had questions.</p><p> </p><p>“We need to talk,” she said to Fred as she sat down on one of the barstools beside him. </p><p> </p><p>Fred looked at Steph with a small smirk on his face.  He knew this was coming.  He had been waiting for it since Steph realized Aleida wasn’t going to be joining them tonight.  “About what?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m worried about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Scratch that – I’m worried about you with Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s there to worry about?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Fred</em>,” she chastised, readjusting her position on the barstool.  “I have my <em>concerns</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“You keep repeating that you’re worried but you aren’t telling me what they are or why.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mitch told you about what she said to me and my friends, right?  The first time she came to a Leaf game?  She called us classless Western girls and accused my friends of using me for clout and to get close to the Leafs.  I mean, who does that?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred was going to get a headache.  If she was going to start that far from where they were now, he was going to be here for a <em>very</em> long time.  “Did you insinuate or outright say that Bee was a try-hard for writing a thank you note to Masai for the Raptor’s tickets?”</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>did not</em> say that,” Steph defended herself.  “What I <em>said</em> was that we were all under the MLSE umbrella so a thank-you note could have been sent on behalf of us, as the Lady Leafs, to Masai.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred tried his hardest not to roll his eyes.  He liked Steph – he really did, he had no problem with her whatsoever – but he knew she was lying to cover herself.  She knew that if Fred found out she had spoken about Bee behind her back, he would <em>not</em> be a happy camper.  Aleida had no reason to lie to him.  “Steph—”</p><p> </p><p>“And then she lied to Bee too!  She comes in here <em>the first day</em> and tries to start problems.  And not only that,” she was speaking so fast her mouth almost couldn’t keep up, “every time she’s been back, she totally ignores <em>everyone</em> besides Bee.  She, like…<em>hogs</em> Bee.”</p><p> </p><p>“Steph, she feels comfortable with Bee,” he tried to explain.  “Who are you, or me, to tear her away from someone she feels comfortable with in an environment she’s not used to.”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s <em>used</em> to this, Fred,” Steph said.  “I did some digging.  Did you know she grew up, like, super-rich?  Her family is loaded.  She probably looks that way because her mom or sister operated on her.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stephanie.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?!  It’s probably true,” she shrugged her shoulders.  “All the things I’ve heard through the grapevine about what she’s done…she’s ruined some guy’s career, she accuses people of being coke whores.  I just don’t understand how <em>anybody</em>, let alone <em>you</em> Fred, could put up with someone like that!  You’re so sweet and you’re such a good guy and I’d hate to see you get so far deep into…<em>that</em>…that it ends up hurting you or you can’t get out.  I don’t want you to get stuck in a burning room.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred didn’t like her tone.  He didn’t like how Steph said “<em>that</em>”.  The disdain in her voice was so pure; she didn’t even pretend to hide it.  “You don’t know a thing about her, Steph.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hear enough.”</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>hear</em> but you don’t <em>know</em>.  I <em>know</em> Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Do you</em> though?” she retorted.  “How much can you really know a person like that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Like <em>what</em>?” Fred’s voice went dark.</p><p> </p><p>“A person who has lived their entire life in the public eye.  A person who creates drama,” Steph clarified.  “I don’t know if she’s good for you, Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>As broken as she was, and as temperamental as she could be, Aleida was exactly what Fred needed.  It was knowing this that caused him to chuckle at Steph’s tone – so definitive, like she knew everything about him and could decide for him that Aleida was bad.  He shook his head as he chuckled, making known to Steph how truly ridiculous her statement really was.  “You know nothing about her, Steph,” he said.  “She’s exactly what I need.” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Next up was Saylor, Kasperi’s new flame.  The Instagram model – well, at least, the <em>next</em> one.  Fred was weary.  After what had happened to Bee, Fred was weary about <em>anybody</em> Kasperi brought around.  He didn’t exactly have the best judgement.  He knew it sounded harsh, but it was the truth.  Fred wasn’t exactly expecting her to approach him, especially because they had only met so briefly before, but she did.  She had a lot of confidence, apparently.  That or just a lot of balls.</p><p> </p><p>“I notice Aleida isn’t here tonight,” she said, sitting in the same seat that Steph had.  “Better for us.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred furrowed his brows.  “For <em>us</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Saylor nodded her head.  “I can tell you <em>everything</em> I know about her—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not interested in gossip, Saylor—”</p><p> </p><p>“No no, not <em>gossip</em>.  Like, <em>confirmed</em> stories,” she said.  “There’s a reason why people call her a cannibal.  I mean I had never experienced it before, but after what she said to Gina?  Now I believe it.  And the other stories I’ve heard back it up.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred tried not to roll his eyes.  “There isn’t anything you know that I don’t already know.”</p><p> </p><p>“No no – get <em>this</em>,” Saylor ignored him.  “So Aleida went to Branksome Hall, right?  Did you know that as part of the grad prank she put coke in the second floor washroom stalls?  Apparently the cops had to be called and they fingerprinted, like, the entire <em>school</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>False.  Aleida had never done drugs.  She’d never even puffed on a joint or cigarette.</p><p> </p><p>“And then, at U of T, she <em>totally</em> slept with a bunch of her professors and TAs for her good marks.  She broke up, like, <em>four</em> marriages.  She called it her kill count.  She didn’t even <em>care</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>False. </p><p> </p><p>“Saylor—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I</em> even heard she slept with her father’s colleagues,” Saylor continued.  “Guys that are like, <em>sixty</em>.  Just to get back at him.”</p><p> </p><p>False.</p><p> </p><p>“Saylor—”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s like she has multiple personalities—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Saylor</em>,” Fred said more emphatically, cutting her off.  Her eyes went a bit wide at the seriousness of her voice.  “Stop speaking about Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>“But Fred, it’s all <em>true</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s really not,” he picked up his drink.  “I think you should go.”</p><p> </p><p>“But Fred—”</p><p> </p><p>“Kappy looks lonely,” he cut her off again.  There was no mistaking the tone of his voice.  “I really think you should go.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Fred,” Kat DiLucia began.</p><p> </p><p>“If you’re here about Aleida, don’t bother,” Fred quipped.</p><p> </p><p>She walked away.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>When everybody was ready to leave, Fred watched as Bee hugged Kat, and Steph, and Saylor, saying her goodbyes and see you soons.  Morgan was beside him, checking his phone quickly before stuffing it back in his pocket and watching Bee.  Fred took this as his opportunity.  “Can I steal Bee?” he asked Morgan, his voice low enough so no-one would hear.</p><p> </p><p>Morgan looked up at Fred.  “What for?”</p><p> </p><p>“I just need to talk to someone.”</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em> got Morgan’s attention, making him furrow his brows.  “Is everything okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Everything’s fine,” Fred sighed slightly.  “I just need to talk to Bee…get her opinion on something.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, sure…” Morgan agreed.  He wasn’t going to deny Fred one of his good friends if he needed her.  Bee finally joined them, smiling.  “Bumblebee, Fred needs to talk to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Her giant smile softened slightly.  She looked towards Fred.  She saw his eyes and she knew automatically.  “You wanna go to Fran’s?” she asked, mentioning the famous late night diner just a few blocks down the road.  “We’ll be surrounded by drunk university students.”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds perfect,” Fred nodded his head, holding out his arm for Bee to latch on to. </p><p> </p><p>She kissed Morgan goodbye before grabbing hold of his bicep.  Morgan nodded at Fred.  “Make sure she gets home safe.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll walk her into the building myself.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Fred and Bee ordered vanilla milkshakes.  They were sitting across from each other at a single table pressed up against the window so they both had a view, like an eighties movie ready for its signature scene.  Near them, a table of ten drunk university students chatted loudly and took selfies with each other while waiting for their food.  Other pairings or foursomes were scattered around the restaurant.  Bee and Fred settled into their seats.  Bee waited. </p><p> </p><p>“So…” she started, impatient as she watched Fred fiddle with the ketchup bottle on the table.  “What’s going on with Aleida?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred was almost embarrassed that she already knew.  “Who said this was about Aleida?”</p><p> </p><p>Bee gave him a look.  He couldn’t help but laugh.  “Come <em>on</em>, Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>“Before I start asking questions, and before we start talking about it, I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me,” he prefaced.</p><p> </p><p>“I always am.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why’d all the girls come up to me tonight to talk shit about her?”</p><p> </p><p>Bee understood what he was asking.  About the honesty.  Because the boys were never exactly privy to the conversations the wives and girlfriends had unless the girls told them, and since Fred had no stake in the game (no girlfriend), he was generally aloof about it all.  But now he couldn’t afford to be aloof anymore, and he needed that insider information.  That’s where Bee came in.</p><p> </p><p>“I think they’re just worried about you,” Bee said.  “I think that because they don’t know Aleida that well, they’re sort of making a big deal about the things that they hear about her and think that it’s affecting you somehow.  But I would chalk it up to them being worried about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re not?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you in a <em>much</em> different way than they know you,” she said.  Fred knew she was right.  He and Bee had a much different relationship than he did with the other wives and girlfriends.  “I’m not necessarily <em>worried</em> about you, or concerned, but you have to know that they tell me the stories they hear too.”</p><p> </p><p>“And what do you think?”</p><p> </p><p>Bee shrugged her shoulders.  “After having met her, I don’t believe them.  I think they’re made up by people who have used her or have tried to use her in the past and she’s denied them.  And I think that the rumours circulate because if they couldn’t get any use out of her, then they’re hell-bent on damaging her, destroying her, discarding her without giving a second thought to the repercussions.  But I don’t believe them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is it because you’ve met her?”</p><p> </p><p>“Partly.  But Steph’s met her too, albeit in a much different capacity, and has a completely different opinion, as you know,” Bee admitted.  “None of that even matters though, Fred.  People believe what they will choose to believe about people.  I mean, look at what happened to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred still got punched in the gut whenever he was reminded of what happened to Bee.  It hurt him to even think about, let alone relive the memories.  He remembered the phone call he made to Kasperi about it and how red with anger he was.  “Bee…”</p><p> </p><p>“Why <em>do</em> you love her though, Freddie?” she asked out of the blue.</p><p> </p><p>Fred was taken aback.  “I d—I don’t—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Frederik</em>,” Bee chastised him with a smirk on her face.  “I’m not here to play games.  I know nothing is even official, but I can at least see it in <em>you</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bee…” Fred said nervously, taking a long sigh.  “I…I know that her personality is very…it’s not for everyone,” Fred began.  “I’m not trying to excuse her behaviour or the things she says sometimes.  She can be difficult.  She can be mean.”</p><p> </p><p>“But…”</p><p> </p><p>“But…” Fred shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  “But she gives me balance.”</p><p> </p><p>Bee knew exactly what Fred meant.  His eternal search for balance was something they talked about a lot.  The second he said the word, everything made sense to Bee.  It didn’t matter anymore how <em>difficult</em> or how <em>mean</em> people interpreted her to be – the only thing that was important to Fred was that she gave Fred balance.  <em>His </em>balance.  The balance <em>he</em> needed, and no-one else.  “Okay, Fred…”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s unlike anybody else I’ve ever met,” he elaborated.  “She…she’s just, she’s <em>different</em>.  I don’t even fully understand her yet but I know…I know that—”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, Fred.  I know.  I get it,” she cut him off.  “You guys are, like…I don’t know.  You’re in this sort of slow dance, though.  You’re slow dancing and you’re trying to learn about each other and figure each other out.  Which is great, but you need to figure it out without any outside influence.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred nodded his head.  He knew that.  He knew that’s what they needed, but what they wouldn’t be able to get.  “That’s hard for her.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.  But you guys have to find a way.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>aleida = biggest bitch on the lady leafs.  She thinks she owns scotiabank arena.  she got into a huge fight with steph lachance. even accused one of steph’s friends of being addicted to coke. aleida’s a cancer. </em>
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  <strong>OMG she did WHAT to steph?????  How do u know?????</strong>
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  <em>Things Aleida Casillas has done to people in Toronto:  1. Broken up three marriages.  2.  Slept with her father’s closest co-worker as revenge.  3.  Ruined the careers of more than a few up-and-comers.  She’s a ruthless bitch.  I have no idea what Fred is doing hanging out with her.</em>
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  <strong>Wow, what a huge slut!</strong>
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  <em>I would say F. Andersen and A. Casillas are dating, but it’s clear she’s using him and he’s much more into her than she’s into him.  She’s definitely using him, but God knows for what.  She’s already super well-known without him, so it can’t be for clout.  Maybe she’s fucking him because she found out one of her few friends likes him.  She has a pattern of doing that – stealing men from her friends.  All I know is that this is gonna leave Fred with a broken heart, because she’s incapable of showing a positive emotion like love.</em>
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  <strong>Girl spill the tea!  What do u know about Aleida?</strong>
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  <em>Alleda Casillas is a major coke whore slut.  Saylor and her crew are way prettier.</em>
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    <em>Anon, I don’t know if she’s a coke whore, but noooooobody is prettier than Aleida, not even Saylor.  For all that’s fucked up about her, Aleida’s a stunner.</em>
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  <em>Google Aleida’s name on TODirt.com – it will tell u everything u want to know.  It’s common knowledge.  That’s why I have no idea what Fred is doing with her.</em>
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  <strong>OMG this girl is messed up</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Can we talk?” Mitch asked Fred as he wiggled into the seat beside him on the bus. </p><p> </p><p>Fred pretended not to hear.  He did have his headphones in, so he had a legitimate excuse to ignore him, or to at least postpone whatever conversation Mitch wanted to have with him.  It would have to be quick, anyway, because if Fred’s Google Maps was correct, they were only about ten minutes away from the hotel. </p><p> </p><p>“Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>Ignore.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Fred</em>,” Mitch said loudly, tapping him on the arm. </p><p> </p><p>Fred had to acquiesce, finally taking out just one of his headphones.  “What’s up Mitchy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Can we talk?”</p><p> </p><p>“About what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>At the mention of her name, Fred’s body stiffened.  The last time Mitch tried to do this, after Steph called Bee a try-hard, it didn’t exactly end well.  “Why do we need to talk about Aleida?”</p><p> </p><p>“Steph has been worried.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred sighed angrily, taking his AirPods out of his ears and shoving them back into their case, shutting it forcefully.  Mitch watched and could tell Fred was angry.  Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.  He would have regretted it almost immediately, because he didn’t like to see Fred angry, but Fred was his friend.  “What are you going to talk to me about that Steph didn’t already talk to me about at the team dinner?  Or is it just the same shit?”</p><p> </p><p>“Listen…I didn’t know that she approached you.  She – she’s just been worried that Aleida isn’t a good influence—”</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t a good influence?  Isn’t a good influence <em>how</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“I…” Mitch paused, scooting closer to Fred.  “Listen, you didn’t hear this from me,” Mitch began to whisper, even going so far as to look over his shoulder to make sure none of the other guys were listening in, “but Steph told me that – well, she heard it through the grapevine…the grapevine being Saylor, apparently Saylor’s friends know Aleida really well – Aleida slept with her brother-in-law, Oliver.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred could feel himself go beet red with anger.  He didn’t know who had the audacity to say these things – who came up with the rumour, who planted it, who heard it, who took it to Steph.  He didn’t know where they got the ideas from.  But beyond all that – because rumours were spread all the time – Fred realized the ultimate truth: all these things said about Aleida – <em>everything</em> said about her, whether or true or false – she internalized it all.  She took it to heart.  She sickeningly made it her identity.  No wonder Aleida didn’t know who she was; no wonder she felt like she was defining herself based on her parents – it was because everybody else was trying to define her in the most revolting ways possible.  What she looked like.  Whom she had sex with.  Whose life she ruined.  All in a bid to figure her out.  But in trying to figure her out, they were just creating her identity.  It was a vicious circle.  Aleida was a product of the gossip and rumour mill of the city.  A literal product for people to consume.  They consumed her life.  They consumed her eating habits.  They consumed her body.  They consumed her beauty.  They consumed her sexuality. </p><p> </p><p>Fred felt sick. </p><p> </p><p>“Mitchy…” Fred said as calmly as he could, although, again, Mitch could tell that he was holding in his anger, “you’re going to get out of that seat, and you’re going to walk to the back to your seat, and you’re gonna stay there, and you’re not going to talk to me about this again.”</p><p> </p><p>Mitch did as he was told.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“You think Bee and I could ever go see Aleida perform again?” Morgan asked as Fred scrolled through his phone, lying on his bed.  “I’m thinking for a date night.  I should be taking her on another date soon.”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t you just take her on one before we left?” Fred asked, remembering the stories Bee uploaded to Instagram that showed the restaurant and the oysters they split.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, so?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred chuckled.  Morgan and Bee made him sick.  Sick enough to want it for himself.  “I’m sure if Aleida saw you two in the crowd she wouldn’t mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you ask her where she’s performing soon?  I’ll surprise Bee with it.  She loved it last time…thought it was so romantic.  And make sure it’s a date that Bee <em>doesn’t</em> know yet.  Because I know they talk.”</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em> piqued Fred’s attention.  He lowered his phone so he could look at Morgan.  “They talk?”</p><p> </p><p>“Obviously.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait…” Fred held his hand up, readjusting his position so he was sitting up more.  “What do you mean they <em>talk</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>It was Morgan’s turn to furrow his brows.  “Like <em>friends</em>?  How else are they supposed to talk?” Morgan commented.  “I think they exchanged numbers the first game Aleida came to, and they’ve been talking ever since.  Not an everyday type of thing, but I know they talk.”</p><p> </p><p>This was brand new information for Fred.  Aleida never gave <em>any</em> indication whatsoever that she formed a genuine friendship with Bee and she was actually putting in an effort.  Bee also never gave any indication about it either when he spoke to her at Fran’s Diner.  He was…pleasantly surprised.  Confused, but pleasantly surprised.  “What do they talk about?”</p><p> </p><p>Morgan shrugged his shoulders.  “Hell if I knew.  That’s between them.  But I know Aleida asked her about what happened with Danielle, and Bee told her, and Aleida was angry about it for a while.”</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em>, again, was news to Fred.  Bee didn’t exactly proclaim from the roofs of buildings what happened to her, and so he was surprised to learn she told Aleida.  “Seriously?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah…” Morgan paused, studying Fred.  He could practically see the gears shifting in his mind.  “Fred, can I ask you a question?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“This thing you have with Aleida…I mean, is…you are <em>happy</em>, right?  I don’t care about anything anybody says about her because I know it’s all bullshit anyways, but…I just want to make sure that you’re happy, that despite everything sort of swirling around you, you’re happy.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred smiled.  Leave it to Morgan to approach the situation like this.  “Yeah.  I’m happy.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re positive?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred nodded his head.  “Positive.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Fred leaned closer to Aleida in the booth, his lips brushing against her temple before kissing her as she focused on the performance they were watching at The Jazz Bistro.  A friend of one of her bandmates was performing that night – Maria-Grace Harper, a saxophonist – and Aleida wanted to check her out.  She asked Fred to come along.  He said yes.</p><p> </p><p>His massive hand was currently under the table, grabbing her thigh just below the tweed skirt she was wearing.  She still had tights on, which meant there wasn’t skin-to-skin contact, but she was getting heated, and it wasn’t just because of the sultry music being played.  Fred knew what he was doing.  While he was enjoying the night, and enjoying the music, his body language showed that he knew he was with the most beautiful girl in the room and he wanted everyone else to know too.  Hands on her hips as they squeezed their way through the crowded entryway; hand at the small of her back as they entered and were led to their seats; now with his body virtually pressed beside hers with a hand on her thigh.  He knew exactly what he was doing and wanted everyone to know.  There was a certain confidence in his body language that Aleida could pick up on, and, in some way, appreciate.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to be seen with her.  Not in the way others did.</p><p> </p><p>When her hand joined his underneath the table, her fingertips grazing the back of his hand lightly, giving him the chills, he turned his head to look at her briefly before trying to refocus on the music.  She saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down.  His hand squeezed her thigh.  She smiled as she leaned in.  “When we get home…” she began, her sentence drifting off so she could leave him in excruciating pain.</p><p> </p><p>“When we get home…” he repeated, waiting desperately for her to finish the sentence. </p><p> </p><p>She smirked.  “When we get home,” she said more definitively, in a different tone, making it seem like that was the end of the sentence.  She intertwined her fingers with his so he’d stop squeezing her thigh and getting her all bothered.  “When we get home.”</p><p> </p><p>He gave her a look that made her shiver.  She tried to focus back to the stage, to the music, to Maria-Grace, but she couldn’t.  There was no way.</p><p> </p><p>When the set was finished, and Aleida went to introduce herself to Maria-Grace in the back room, Fred charmed the pants off of her.  He charmed the pants off of everyone.  He was in A+ form tonight and Aleida couldn’t keep up.  She couldn’t keep up with the flushes in her chest, the blush in her cheeks, the biting of her lips.  She held his hand – <em>willingly</em>.  She almost wanted to gag at herself.</p><p> </p><p>Then, when they were in the Uber, he apparently couldn’t wait.  His lips found hers easily, too easily, and she couldn’t break away.  They were probably annoying the driver, but at that point, she didn’t care.  She didn’t care that his hand was travelling up her thigh and getting dangerously close to the heat he was causing between her thighs.  She didn’t care that her hands were tugging at his lapels to bring him closer to her.  She didn’t care.  She didn’t care anymore.</p><p> </p><p>In her bed, he took off her clothes delicately.  One by one.  Her tweed skirt came off in one long pull.  Her tights were peeled off slowly before he rested her ankles on his broad shoulders, running his hands up and down her legs, causing her to shiver.  Her underwear, her top, and her bra came off in quick succession. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out as he kissed her, his body looming over hers after his clothes were taken off too. </p><p> </p><p>He meant it.  She knew he meant it.  They weren’t hollow words that he was just using to play with her, to take advantage of her.  They weren’t empty.  There was a weight to them.  It made her body flush with a feeling she didn’t think she’d ever felt before. </p><p> </p><p>She pushed him onto his back and straddled him, his broad chest below her hands as she ran them up and down and across, feeling him as much as possible.  She lowered herself onto him and when he bottomed out, he grabbed one of her wrists and brought it to his lips and kissed it.  She let out a long sigh. </p><p> </p><p>“Freddie…” she whispered as she began to rock back and forth on his cock.  She brought her thumb up to his lips.  He kissed that too.  “Freddie…”</p><p> </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re so good to me, Freddie.”</p><p> </p><p>She always said that.  She always said it and it always stung his heart because, well, why <em>wouldn’t</em> he be good to her?  Who <em>hadn’t</em> been good to her that she felt the need to say it every time they had sex?  And why did it come out only when they were intimate?  When he was so deep inside her? </p><p> </p><p>As she rocked back and forth, closing her eyes to revel in the pleasure, she grabbed Fred’s hand and intertwined her fingers with his, using him as something to brace against.  His eyes were wide open as he watched her hips move like waves, her hair falling over her chest and breasts. </p><p> </p><p>“Aleida—”</p><p> </p><p>“Kiss me, Freddie.  Kiss me.”</p><p> </p><p>He let go of her hands to sit up, wrapping his arms around her body as she stayed in his lap.  He began to kiss her feverishly; big, long, sloppy kisses as she mewled into his mouth and tangled her hands in his hair, causing him to make the same noise he made in the car that she was so desperate to hear again, always, for all eternity.  When he flipped her over onto her back, she wrapped her legs around him instinctively to keep him close. </p><p> </p><p>He continued to kiss her, making love to her with such intensity and passion she had never experienced before.  It was unique to him; to being with him, intimately, and giving herself up to him like she hadn’t given herself up to anyone before.  Eventually, as the noises she made became louder and louder, he stopped kissing her and looked her in the eye.  She brought her hands up to caress his face, gliding the pads of her thumbs over his lips. </p><p> </p><p>He kissed them again.</p><p> </p><p>“Freddie…” she moaned as she was close.  “I love how you feel inside me.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t say anything.  He only continued moving – until she arched her back and he could feel her walls clench around him, repeating his name over and over again, and until his own orgasm came over him.  When their breathing steadied, he pulled out and collapsed on the bed beside her.  She moved to cuddle into him, cradling his head and peppering his forehead with light kisses until she fell asleep. </p><p> </p><p>She was warm.  So warm.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, Fred’s head was tucked into the crook of her shoulder, his big spoon to her little spoon on the bed underneath the covers.  As he woke up, he could smell her hair, the fruity smell of her shampoo lingering.  Her skin was still soft as he rubbed his lips over the skin of her neck.  As he got used to the light coming through the curtains, he began to kiss her softly.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida woke up to his beard scratching along her skin.  She smiled to herself at the feeling, squeezing his hand that was, coincidentally, holding her breast.  She almost chuckled.  How convenient.</p><p> </p><p>“I have to leave for practice,” he barely whispered against her skin.</p><p> </p><p>She felt her heart drop.  Without thinking, she said the first words to come to her mind.  “Don’t go.”</p><p> </p><p>He chuckled slightly, raising slightly so he wasn’t completely engulfing her body.  “I have to.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“C’mere.”</p><p> </p><p>She turned onto her back and looked up at him.  His red hair stuck out in every direction as her brown hair sprawled out over the pillow; his eyes were still drowsy like hers; and the smirk on his face was as undeniable as hers.  He lowered himself and began kissing her, lightly at first, then more passionately. </p><p> </p><p>She wrapped an arm around his neck just as he mumbled against her lips, “Practice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Noooo,” she whimpered.  “Stay in bed with me,” she kissed him again.  She grabbed the free hand that wasn’t still attached to her breast and brought it up to her lips and kissed his knuckles.  “Touch me, Freddie.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleeeeeeiiidddaaaaaaa,” he groaned, 99.9% unable to resist her but 0.01% knowing Sheldon Keefe, Kyle Dubas, Brendan Shanahan, and the rest of the Toronto sports media would have his head on a spit outside of Scotiabank Arena if he showed up to practice late.  “Aleida, I have to go.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Imagine what they’ll write about me if I showed up late.”</p><p> </p><p>She groaned even louder, abandoning her attempt to keep him in bed as he chuckled at the noise that escaped her mouth.  She purposely shoved some of the comforter down to expose her breasts as he got out of bed and looked down at her.  Taunting him.  She looked like a goddess sleeping on a cloud; a Renaissance painting of a Greek or Roman deity looking at her lover.</p><p> </p><p>He escaped into the washroom reluctantly, emerging slightly more fresh-faced than when he went in.  She watched as he put on his clothes from the day before.  He didn’t even care that he was going to show up to practice in old clothes.  “I’ll call you later,” he said, leaning over the bed to kiss her one last time. </p><p> </p><p>“Think of me,” she declared quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“Always,” were his last words before he left.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida stayed in her bed, staring at her ceiling.  Despite the comforter still draped over her, a quick cold took over her body as it realized Fred wasn’t coming back to wrap his arms around her; it wasn’t coming back to lie beside her and give her body heat; it wasn’t coming back to pleasure her or make her feel good as it did last night.  She shivered before pulling the comforter back up and tucking it underneath her chin.</p><p> </p><p>She thought about last night.  She thought about asking him to see the saxophonist; how touchy-feely he was with his hands, how he charmed the pants off everyone he came into contact with.  She thought about how handsome he was; how he styled his hair, how he cleaned up his beard, how he wore that one really nice but casual suit so he looked dressed up but not <em>too</em> dressed up.  She thought about how he made love to her; how he was so intense and so raw but so intimate, how he constantly worshipped her body instead of what others had done.  She thought about the times they hung out together; about how much she opened up to him (so <em>easily</em>!) and how much he listened, how he kept it all to himself in a bid to understand her more instead of telling everybody he knew.  She thought…she thought…</p><p> </p><p>She thought about the dinner with her family.  She thought about her little…spat with Gina.  She thought about him yelling at her.  She thought about him listening to her and not following her home that night.  She thought about him holding her.  She thought about the Cuban dancing night at the church and how he danced and how he interacted with everyone.  She thought about what happened in the car.  <em>God, what happened in the car</em>.  She thought about the noise he made when she tugged his hair.  She thought about he held her when she told him about her past eating problems.  She thought about him saying very little, which was what she always wanted.  She thought about him holding her so tenderly in his arms and how she’d never been held like that, <em>ever</em>, and how much her body physically craved it each and every time she saw him.  She thought about their first kiss, how his tongue slipped into her mouth so naturally.  She thought about his beard rubbing up against her skin.  She thought about performing in front of him, about meeting Bee and Morgan, and realizing he surrounded himself with (mostly) decent people.  She thought about him looking for her for <em>months</em> and then finally happening upon her in an Uber.  She thought about him finding her crying in the middle of a Shopper’s Drug Mart in the middle of the night. </p><p> </p><p>He was good.  He was caring.  He was handsome.  He was nurturing.  He was a listener.  He was a secret-keeper.  He was thoughtful.  He was kind.  He was considerate.  He was attentive.  He was supporting.  He was respectable.  He was wholesome.  He was flawed (like her), but perfect. </p><p> </p><p>He was getting too close.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fred knew something was wrong.</p><p> </p><p>It was a slow descent, noticing that Aleida was getting more and more distant, but it was noticeable. </p><p> </p><p>It happened in two acts:</p><p> </p><p>&gt;&lt; &gt;&lt; &gt;&lt; &gt;&lt; &gt;&lt;</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Act 1: When Aleida Noticed People Were Looking</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Bee and Morgan had asked if Aleida and Fred wanted to join them for dinner at Canoe.   Aleida agreed, and mentioned she would bring them for hang out at SoHo House afterwards.  When Morgan mentioned <em>it was member’s only, how could they possibly do that?</em>, Aleida said not to worry about it. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida had to reapply her lipstick before she exited the taxi because of Fred.  When she did, he slipped his hand over hers so easily.  Morgan and Bee were waiting for them outside, and as they all stuffed into the elevator with a few other patrons to make their way up to 54<sup>th</sup> floor of the building, Fred’s hand was resting on her ass. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida ordered an expensive bottle of wine for the table, and Morgan ordered another.  Bee told her the story of their first date at Cibo.   Fred’s hand squeezed Aleida’s underneath the table the entire time.  Aleida mentioned how the executive chef was a friend.  Dinner was sublime, as it always was at Canoe.  Morgan got a little bit tipsy; his cheeks blushed red like he had been pinched for five minutes straight.  There was almost a third bottle of wine ordered until they all remembered they were also going to SoHo House.  Fred seemed a bit reluctant to go but he was convinced.  Aleida excused herself to use the restroom before they left.</p><p> </p><p>Inside, washing her hands, Aleida was minding her own business when she looked up at herself through the mirror and saw Diane Ragland, one of her mother’s friends.  Aleida held her breath.  Diana was an almost constant mainstay at her parents’ dinner parties growing up, but Aleida hadn’t seen her in years.  She was sure her mother and Diane were still friends; it was just that Aleida hadn’t seen her. </p><p> </p><p>“Aleida?  Is that you?” Diane said once she finally looked up from exiting the stall.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi Diane,” Aleida smiled meekly. </p><p> </p><p>“I <em>thought</em> I looked out into that sea of tables and saw you,” she said, her voice smooth like velvet.  It was one of the things that Aleida didn’t like about her.  Her voice was always too calm.  “How is your mother doing?  And your father?”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re well, thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida cringed.  “I’m okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Diane began washing her hands, getting some soap from the dispenser and rubbing it all over her hands.  “Yes, you look okay,” she commented.  “You look better than the last time I saw you.”  Aleida thought back to that – <em>God</em>, it was so long ago – which was probably at one of her mother’s dinner parties.  “It was the Heart and Stroke Foundation Ball,” Diane clarified, as if she was reading Aleida’s mind.  “Your father was the guest speaker.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right.”  Aleida didn’t want to think of that night.  She didn’t want to think about anything to do with that time period.  She’d survived on martinis and the asparagus on the main course plate that night because she wore a backless, strappy, figure-hugging gown that got her all the attention she didn’t want.</p><p> </p><p>“You look fuller.  And happier.  Like you don’t have a bone to pick with everybody who comes up to you,” Diane commented.  “And it looks like you’ve made some good friends, finally.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuller.  Happier.  Bone.  </em>Aleida held her breath.  She didn’t want to hear anymore.  “Speaking of, I’ve got to get back to them,” Aleida said promptly.  “It was nice to see you Diane.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>At SoHo House, Morgan and Bee were having the time of their lives and Fred just wanted to go home and get her in bed.  She could tell by the way he was touching her; the way he looked at her throughout the night when she was talking to Bee, or ordering drinks, or just plain <em>looked</em> at her because he wanted to, because he could.  But she wanted to spend more time with Morgan and Bee.  Or, at least Bee.  Or, at least at SoHo House.  Even though she didn’t want to be there.  She did, but she didn’t.  She didn’t know anymore.</p><p> </p><p>There were a lot of eyes.</p><p> </p><p>It was a Friday night so she knew there would be.  But every time she looked past Fred, or Morgan, or Bee, and she saw a person, they were looking.  Looking.  Looking at her, then down at their phone.  Looking at her, then at their friend.  Looking at her, then whispering something.  Looking at her, then giving their friends a knowing look.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re probably looking at me, you know,” Bee piped up when she noticed that Aleida couldn’t take her eyes off of everyone else.  Aleida looked at Bee, who was already looking at her.  “They probably see me here and wonder what business I have being at a private members club.  Or they see me with a drink and are ready to call me an alcoholic again.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida’s cheeks flushed red.  She remembered what Bee told her about that incident, and what Fred told her too.  “They’re not looking at you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, they’re not looking at you either.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Fred saw.  Fred saw people looking at him at SoHo House.  He didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>Fred saw.  Fred saw people looking at Aleida at SoHo House.  He didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>Fred saw.  Fred saw people looking at him and Aleida together at SoHo House.  He didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida did.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Saw Ally Casillas and Freddie out last night at SoHo House with Bee McTavish and Morgan Rielly.  Can’t believe Freddie is still with her.  Doesn’t surprise me that Bee is hanging out with her now.  She is such a social climber, it’s so obvious.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Isn’t SoHo House private?  How’d they get in?</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Aleida Casillas is the biggest coke whore in all of Toronto</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Ooooookkkaaaaayyyyy?????</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Aleida’s a huge bitch because she’s a spoiled brat.  Plain and simple.  She thinks she’s different from the rest of those party girls but she’s not.  She’s even worse.  She’s the biggest hypocrite.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>And that’s the tea!!!!!</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>&gt;&lt; &gt;&lt; &gt;&lt; &gt;&lt; &gt;&lt;</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Act 2: When Aleida Noticed People Were Seeing</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Truly, the beginning was when Bee told her <em>“They’re probably looking at me.”</em>  Because Bee was perceptive like that.  And Aleida didn’t want to admit it, but Bee was right.  Whatever she was implying with that statement, or whatever she was trying to do by saying that to Aleida, she was right.  But Aleida didn’t want to admit it. </p><p> </p><p>Then Aleida babysat Matias and Gabriela for Alejandra and Oliver one night.  When they came home and the kids had been asleep for at least two hours, Oliver went upstairs to check on the kids but Alejandra stayed with Aleida. </p><p> </p><p>“Fred couldn’t come because of the game tonight?” Alejandra asked, to which Aleida nodded her head.  “Did Matias make you watch it?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.  We watched Penguins of Madagascar.”</p><p> </p><p>Alejandra nodded her head in silence, fluffing up a few of the decorative cushions on the couch to make her look like she was cleaning up.  She was fidgeting, which told Aleida there was more on her mind than just what she and the kids got up to that night.  “He’s a nice guy, you know.  Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida nodded her head.  “I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Have you guys talked about what you two are?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida furrowed her brows as she ignored her sister’s gaze.  “Why would we?”</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t see Alejandra roll her eyes.  “I don’t know.  Usually when two people love each other they do stuff like that.  Hell, even when they <em>don’t</em> love each other yet – when they just <em>like</em> each other – they usually call each other girlfriend or boyfriend.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the difference?” Aleida huffed.</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida, you can’t be stringing him along like you do everyone else,” Alejandra commented, crossing her arms across her chest.  “He doesn’t deserve it.  <em>Especially</em> him.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida shook her head.  “I’m leaving,” she mumbled as she turned on her heels and began stomping her way towards the front door, not wanting to be part of this conversation anymore.  If Alejandra was going to do <em>this</em>, she wanted no part in it.  None whatsoever.</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida get back here,” Alejandra demanded, following her throughout her giant house.  “He deserves better from you, Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida whipped her head around and glared at her sister.  “Alejandra, <em>don’t</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t <em>what</em>?  Call you out on your bullshit because I <em>see</em> your bullshit?” she demanded, raising her voice.  “The bullshit you’ve been self-perpetuating and sabotaging yourself with for years?”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t see <em>anything</em> about me, let alone the bullshit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes I do, Aleida.  You’re just too wrapped up in everything around you to see that some of us love you and care about you and <em>actually</em> want what’s best for you.  Fred included,” Alejandra said.  “You’re so <em>blind</em> to everybody around you and how much they love you.  You complain about not being seen but <em>you’re</em> the one not seeing the love that’s right in front of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida went red.  How dare she.  How fucking <em>dare</em> she.  “<em>Fuck you</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you too, Aleida,” Alejandra bellowed back in an equally harsh tone.  “But at least I’m married with children and I’m <em>happy</em>.  I let people in.  I hope one day you can say the same for yourself.  That’s really all I want for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida slammed the door behind her.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Instead of asking Freddie to touch her, she wouldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Instead of curling into Freddie’s body, she wouldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Instead of looking at Freddie, she wouldn’t. </p><p> </p><p>She’d stare up at the ceiling with a void in her eyes.  Freddie would see.  He would see and he would touch her and it would do nothing.  He would see and he’d nuzzle into her and it would do nothing.  He’d see and he’d drape an arm around her and it would do nothing.</p><p> </p><p>It was only when he actually spoke that she would respond in any way.</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida,” he’d mumble.</p><p> </p><p>And she’d finally look at him.  And she’d finally touch him.</p><p> </p><p>But her touch was cold and empty.</p><p> </p><p>&gt;&lt; &gt;&lt; &gt;&lt; &gt;&lt; &gt;&lt;</p><p> </p><p>Act Three became When Fred Decided to Say Something About It.</p><p> </p><p>They were at an event, but Aleida wasn’t there.  Well…she was <em>there</em>, physically, but not there <em>mentally</em>, and it wasn’t annoying Fred, per se, but it was making him worried.  She’d gone all out – hair done, nails done, put on a pretty and classic dress that hugged her in all the right places – but there was no use.  She wasn’t <em>there</em>.  She was somewhere else, and Fred needed to find out.</p><p> </p><p>“Is everything okay?” he asked at one point when they were finally alone, not bothered by anybody coming up to speak with them, or separated in different conversations.</p><p> </p><p>“Everything’s fine,” she said, so blasé, as she took a sip from her champagne flute.  “Why wouldn’t it be?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re quiet.”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you’d prefer me that way.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred furrowed his brows.  That quip from her was not helping the situation.  “You know that’s not true.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do I?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida, what’s this about?” he asked, his voice still soft despite what she had said.  “Is there someone here making you uncomfortable?  Do you not want to be here?  Do you want to go home?  Because we can go.”</p><p> </p><p>She wished, she wished to <em>God</em> he hadn’t said those words, because it showed he cared so much.  The pain stung her eyes, which she ended up rolling.  “Can’t a girl just be a little bit prickly every once in a while?” she asked, the same bit of attitude in her voice.  “Not everything has to be made right, Fred.  Not everything is rainbows and butterflies.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I want to make it right for you.  And if it’s not, we can go.”</p><p> </p><p>She hated him.  God, she hated him so much for being so kind.  She couldn’t even bare to look at him.  She couldn’t do it.  So she walked away, towards the washroom, to try to find any semblances of sanity and decency she had left.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Fred and Aleida were alone now at her townhouse.  He loosened his tie as he watched her take off her earrings and put them back in their velvet box, and he had to say something.  He had to. </p><p> </p><p>“Aleida…” he began, softly.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t start with me, Fred,” she mumbled in a harsh tone, trying to dismiss him.  When he went silent and she finally looked at him, she saw the look he was giving her – the pain in his eyes – and shook her head.  “Don’t give me that look, either.  With those sad puppy-dog eyes.”  He wasn’t going to listen to her, and she knew that, but she said it anyway.  Because…well…</p><p> </p><p>Aleida had prepared herself for a war.  A war she had to win.</p><p> </p><p>“You know…every single day since I’ve met you, I’ve had to live with the fact that the first time I saw you I was in my own world and I missed your sad eyes – the pain you were going through that night when you performed,” he began.  “And when I met you, and was trying to find you…and then when I <em>did</em> find you, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t let a day go by – not even a <em>moment</em> – without looking you in the eye and actually <em>seeing</em> you.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida’s eyes burned.  “What’s that supposed to mean.”</p><p> </p><p>“It means that I’ve been seeing you the whole time we’ve been together but you refuse to see me back,” he said.  “You refuse to see what’s going on between us.  You refuse to understand that <em>I can see you</em>, Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right, Fred.  You see people,” she nodded her head.  “But you <em>don’t</em> see me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes I do.  <em>Yes I do</em>,” he repeated more emphatically.  “<em>God</em> Aleida, what have we been doing this whole time?  All I’ve been doing is seeing you!”</p><p> </p><p>“No you haven’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yes I have</em>!” he let out a shout – the first of many, he thought.  “I saw you that night in Shopper’s Drug Mart.  I saw you that night when you let me watch you perform.  I saw you that night in the basement of the church be the happiest you’ve ever fucking been in a while.  I saw you.  <em>I saw you</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida had begun shaking her head as Fred listed off the instances.  “No.  <em>No</em>.  You don’t get it.  You think this is so simple.  You think it’s so <em>easy</em>.  You don’t realize <em>anything</em>.  That first night when you came to see me perform – I hadn’t introduced you to anybody because I said I didn’t want anyone to ruin you, but <em>I</em> was the one ruining you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You haven’t ruined <em>anything</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yes I have</em>!” she screamed.  “I’ve ruined <em>you</em>.  I’ve ruined <em>everything</em> good about you since the day I met you.”</p><p> </p><p>“No you haven’t!  God, Aleida, why would you think that?  Why do you think all you do is ruin things?  You’re a creator, Aleida – you <em>can</em> be – if you’d just start actually doing things that make you happy.  Nobody’s going to save you because nobody needs to save you.  You just have to fucking love yourself.” </p><p> </p><p>She glared at him.  She wanted to run up to him and shove him, punch him in the chest, do whatever she could, though she knew it would be of no use.  “Don’t you <em>dare</em> fucking stand there and tell me to <em>love myself</em> like it’s so easy – like I can just flip a switch.  Don’t you <em>dare</em> say that when you know how hard it’s been for me to love myself since I was eighteen.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then I don’t get it.  Why aren’t you doing stuff that brings you joy?  Why are you doing stuff that makes you miserable?  The modelling and the nights out and being someone you are so obviously <em>not</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Same reason you play hockey even though it makes you <em>erupt</em> <em>like a volcano</em> sometimes,” she deadpanned, throwing his own words from so long ago back at him.  “I’m good at it.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not the same thing,” he tried to reason. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it isn’t?” her voice was dripping with sarcasm.</p><p> </p><p>“It isn’t and you <em>know</em> that,” he said.  “I have trained my entire life to be where I am today.  Hockey has given me some of my best mentors, best friends, best relationships, and best memories I’ve ever had.  All these things you keep doing all the time do nothing but <em>hurt</em> you, yet you continue to do them.  Hockey gets me angry sometimes but it doesn’t <em>hurt</em> me – it doesn’t hurt my <em>soul</em> like all this stuff does with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t hurt your soul?  Even game sevens against Boston?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred glared at her.  It took every ounce of strength within him to stop himself from telling her to fuck off.  “I know that you’re only saying that because I found out about the weakest point of you,” he said in an unreasonably calm voice, making sure he wasn’t letting the volcano erupt.  “And now you’re trying to get the weakest point out of me, too.  But just because somebody else finds out, it doesn’t make you more vulnerable or susceptible to them using it against you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Say for yourself.”.</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>am</em> saying for myself.  I would never use that information against you in any way and I would wring the neck of anybody who has, but I have a sneaking suspicion that <em>nobody</em> has – that you’re just <em>waiting</em> for someone to use it against you so you can explode at them and justify your shitty behaviour and treatment of them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ex<em>cuse</em> me?”</p><p> </p><p>“You think that no-one sees you but you aren’t doing anything to make it better.  You close up even more, you become more hardened, you cause scenes in bars and restaurants even when I’m <em>right in front of you</em> showing you I fucking <em>care</em> about you.  For the love of God, Aleida, I don’t want to <em>consume</em> you, Aleida.  I just want to <em>love</em> you.”</p><p> </p><p>The words stung Aleida as they were up in the air between them.  She was so emotional she was shaking.  “Don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you love me,” Fred continued, walking up to her slowly.  With each step, her chest tightened.  “I know you do.  You love me, which means you’re capable of loving yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Don’t</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no need to ignite every room on fire anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“How fucking <em>dare</em> you.”</p><p> </p><p>“How fucking dare I?  <em>How fucking dare I</em>?” he yelled, pointing to himself in his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“How <em>fucking</em> dare you speak to me like that,” she said as she squared up with him.  “You don’t see me at all.  You don’t <em>know</em> me at all.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me you don’t love me.  Say it.  Say the <em>fucking</em> words.  And don’t just say it because you’re playing your game and putting up your front like you always do.  <em>Say</em> you don’t love me <em>right now</em> and I’ll walk out that door and we’ll never see each other again.”</p><p> </p><p>Their eyes met. </p><p> </p><p>There was silence. </p><p> </p><p>A long silence. </p><p> </p><p>Hesitation. </p><p> </p><p>And then.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t love you.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s eyes burned.  He looked at Aleida as his eyes went red, as the tears welled and threatened to escape.  He stared at her for as long as he could, for as long as was humanly possible when a person had just had their heart broken, their world shattered.  He tried to look for an answer that she didn’t say.  A hint of a lie.  A clue that she was putting up the front she did when he met her, the one everyone thought she was really like but that he knew was a complete lie.  But he couldn’t see it.  He couldn’t see anything but the tears, the red in her eyes, too, stinging with emotion.  With sadness.  With emptiness.</p><p> </p><p>Just like when he met her.</p><p> </p><p>And so, he knew he would keep that image of her in his mind forever – of how he met her and how he left her – as he turned around and walked out the door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fred didn’t know what time was anymore.</p><p> </p><p>It had been months, probably, since he last saw Aleida.  But he didn’t know how many.  A couple, definitely.  A few, maybe.  Several, probably?  He didn’t know.  Everything was a blur now, and nothing felt real.  He still “lived” his life, so to speak – he still played hockey, he still brushed his teeth every morning, he still ate food – but nothing had any meaning anymore.  Nothing had purpose.  Everything in his life, <em>everything</em>, felt empty and hollow, like no matter what went into it, it would never be whole. </p><p> </p><p>Everybody around him noticed.  Everybody knew.  Word had gotten around the locker room, but whenever anybody tried to approach him about it, he simply walked away.  It was his way of telling them he didn’t want to talk about it.  Sometimes he’d even give them a glare and they’d back off, knowing better.  The wives and girlfriends got word of it, too, and for lack of a better term they stayed away, for the most part.  Steph didn’t gloat in his face, which was nice, although she did keep saying things to others – things he’d catch wind of thank to Mitch’s big mouth (or Steph’s own big mouth if she was in the same room). </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, he just wanted to forget Aleida happened.  Other times, it was all he wanted to remember for the rest of his life.</p><p> </p><p>He isolated himself.  He didn’t speak to many people much.  He’d stay in, not go out, order takeout.  Auston called sometimes, texted often, but Fred gave him generic answers.  Morgan would check in from time to time, mostly with the preface of <em>“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but…”</em>.  Bee would call, demand she’d talk to him, but he’d give her the same generic answers he’d give Auston or Morgan. </p><p> </p><p>Until she showed up at his condo one day with Chinese takeout.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re talking to me,” she said as she pushed through the door, his big body moving for her easily as she walked through the hallway before setting her keys and the takeout bags down on the counter. </p><p> </p><p>Fred looked down the corridor to see if Morgan was following behind, but he was nowhere to be found.  He accepted the situation and closed the door, walking through his apartment slowly to find Bee already opening the containers of food.  “What’s there to talk about?” he asked as he sat down at one of his barstools.</p><p> </p><p>Bee shot him a look.  “I’m worried about you,” she started.  It brought him back to all those months ago when so many of the wives and girlfriends tried to approach him about Aleida.  With Bee things were always different.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s there to worry about?” he asked, voice empty.</p><p> </p><p>“If you don’t smarten up and talk to me, I’ll leave,” she warned sternly.  She wasn’t here to play games or beat around the bush, and she wanted to make it known.  Her tone straightened Fred up a little bit.  He knew he couldn’t get away with any bullshit with Bee.  She’d been through enough. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you want to talk about?” he mumbled.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I</em> don’t want to talk about <em>anything</em>,” she said.  “<em>You</em> need to talk about what happened, because it’s eating away at you and I hate to see you like this.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred sighed heavily.  “I’ll start from the beginning…”</p><p> </p><p>And he did.  He started from the beginning – well, at least, what <em>he</em> thought was the beginning.  And he explained everything to Bee – as much as he could – until he got to the final moments.  That’s when he tried to include every detail.  And when he was finished, and their Chinese takeout was cold, Bee’s face was stuck in a sort of stoic kind of reserve.  She was clearly mulling over everything and didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think.  The situation was all very unique to Fred and Aleida, naturally, and she had no experience with this sort of thing because, well, nobody was like Aleida. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe that all happened,” was what Bee finally came up with.  “I can’t believe…I can’t believe she <em>said</em> all those things.”</p><p> </p><p>“You and me both.”</p><p> </p><p>“She doesn’t mean them, you know,” she finally said, practically blurted out.  “I mean, it’s <em>so</em> obvious.  She doesn’t mean them.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know about that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well I do,” Bee said more assertively.  “She doesn’t mean them at all.  She said them out of fear.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fear of <em>what</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fear of…I don’t know, love?  Being with someone who actually appreciates her instead of uses her?” Bee offered.  “She barely has any experience with that.  You said so yourself.  And when she was finally confronted with it in the form of <em>you</em>, she didn’t know what to do.  Her fight-or-flight response was to self-sabotage.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred shook his head.  He didn’t know what to think.  He didn’t know what to believe.  “I don’t know, Bee…”</p><p> </p><p>“Fred…” she said, moving around the island to rub his shoulder.  “You’ve been a shell for <em>months</em>.  Have you thought about trying to find her?  Trying to talk to her and—”</p><p> </p><p>“You think I haven’t?!” he asked, the first time his voice was barely above a mumble.  Bee was taken aback a bit, but continued to listen.  “Do you <em>honestly</em> think that I haven’t thought about doing that?  <em>She told me she didn’t love me,</em> Bee.  I told her I’d walk out that door and never see her again if she told me she didn’t love me, <em>and she told me</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“But Fred, she didn’t mean it—”</p><p> </p><p>“She <em>did</em> mean it, <em>she did</em>,” he stressed, shaking his head.  He was becoming emotional reliving that conversation in his head.  “There’s nothing I can do about it, Bee.  She doesn’t love me.  She never did.  At least not the way that I loved her.  I just can’t…I can’t…” the tears were welling in his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Bee hugged him.  It was all she could do.  She held him tight in her arms as he buried his head in her shoulder and cried.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Fred was wandering.  It was dark, late at night, he wasn’t sure what time it was, he wasn’t sure what day it was, he wasn’t sure where he was in the city, he wasn’t sure about anything at all.  Everything was a blur.  He was just <em>wandering</em>.  Wandering to find a semblance of any feeling; wandering to fill a void that couldn’t be filled; wandering to find something that couldn’t be found.  Every soul he passed on the street was empty to him.  Every storefront that shined with neon lights – empty.  He couldn’t find life in anything or anyone around him, because there was no life left in him anymore. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey bud,” he heard a voice call out to him from where he was about to approach.  “Bud, hey bud, you lookin’ for a good time?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred stood stoic in his place.  He looked up, trying to see a sign for the place, but either he was blind or there was none there.  Not the greatest start, but Fred digressed.  “A good time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.  A good time, you know?  Good time,” he kept repeating.  His voice was sleazy.  “Twenty bucks cover.  You wanna come in?”</p><p> </p><p>What did Fred have to lose?  If this man was telling the truth, he was telling the truth – he would have a good time.  If he wasn’t and he was leading Fred to be robbed or to his death instead…well, that was the risk Fred was taking.  Fred fumbled around with his wallet and slipped the guy a twenty-dollar bill before going down the few steps into the basement bar. </p><p> </p><p>He was fairly surprised to see the bar full of patrons sitting at tables full of wine bottles and glasses, paying attention to something that was happening against a wall he couldn’t see yet.  The further he got into the venue, the more he saw: a man was playing an acoustic guitar, crooning the audience with his voice and melody.  Some middle-aged women were smiling and swaying along; their husband’s hyper-focused on their beers or watching the man on stage.</p><p> </p><p>“Sir, you need to take the table all the way at the back,” a man tried to push him along.  “Right at the back, sir.  One of the last tables.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred followed absent-mindedly – again, not knowing if he was being led to a mugging or death.  When they finally got to the table, Fred sat facing the stage, and a waitress immediately uncorked a bottle of wine and pored him a glass.  He gulped it all in one go.  She looked at him strangely before filling up his glass again.  He drank that one too.</p><p> </p><p>“Save some for your date,” she said loud enough to be heard over the music as she poured him a third glass in a row.</p><p> </p><p>“Who says I have a date?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“I bet a guy like you has no trouble getting a date,” she smirked.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t even care that she was flirting.  It didn’t even register to him.  It went in one ear and out the other – just…completely devoid of any feeling.  Maybe she was just doing it for a generous tip, anyway. </p><p> </p><p>The patrons began clapping as the man completed his song, bowing dramatically and putting his hand over his heart as a gesture of thankfulness before walking off the stage.  There were some rumblings before another man came out – who Fred assumed to be the host – in a suit and tie with a microphone in his hand.  “Give it up for Michael Keyes, huh!  What a performance!”</p><p> </p><p>There was another round of applause.  Fred groaned, closing his eyes and throwing his head back.  He wanted to take the glass full of wine and the bottle and just do a mad dash out of there.  He didn’t even know why he agreed to come in ninety seconds ago.  What was he even doing?  What was he trying to find?</p><p> </p><p>“The next presenter of our open performance night…well, she really needs no introduction.  She’s is a face you may know very well, as she is a performer here often.  You’ll often see her at events around the city performing with her band.  And you know what?  I’m just going to let her singing do the talking.”</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he should just get up and leave.  He’d give the sleazy guy outside $100 to shut up if he yelled at him for leaving.</p><p> </p><p>He heard another polite round of applause as he continued to have his eyes shut.  Some clacking of heels and dress shoes walking across the stage.  The bench of the piano being adjusted.  Some strums of guitar.  A clear of the throat.  The quietest count in. </p><p> </p><p>And then eerily familiar guitar notes, played along with the piano.  Notes that sounded like they were void, depressed, like they were crying.  Notes that when strung together made one of his favourite melodies.  Notes that he’d listened to through a pair of headphones countless times.  He knew those notes anywhere.  <em>Slow Dancing in a Burning Room</em> by John Mayer.  He smiled to himself, his eyes still closed as he readied himself for the lyrics to start.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>It’s not a silly little moment</em>
</p><p> </p><p>His body stiffened.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It’s not the storm before the calm</em>
</p><p> </p><p>His eyes jolted open.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This is the deep and dying breath of</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This love that we’ve been working on…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He knew that voice anywhere.</p><p> </p><p>Her.</p><p> </p><p>It was <em>her</em>. </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Can’t seem to hold you like I want to</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Aleida.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>So I can feel you in my arms</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>ALEIDA.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Nobody’s gonna come and save you</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>ALEIDA!</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>We pulled too many false alarms</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>His body felt like it was on fire.  Like the fire of a thousand suns had just exploded within him.  His heartbeat had stopped the second she started singing, and he was pretty sure he still wasn’t breathing.  The world around him stopped. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We’re going down</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And you can see it, too</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We’re going down</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And you know that we’re doomed</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Aleida was singing.  On stage.  Oscar was playing the guitar on his vintage archtop.  She was there, in the flesh, her voice cascading throughout the room like waves. </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I was the one you always dreamed of</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You were the one I tried to draw</em>
</p><p>
  <em>How dare you say it’s nothing to me?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Baby, you’re the only light I ever saw</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>She closed her eyes at that point.  He swore he saw tears welled up in her eyes before she did, but maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.  Maybe this was all just a dream, a sick hallucination his mind concocted.  Maybe he’d officially gone insane.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I’ll make the most of all the sadness</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’ll be a bitch, because you can</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You try to hit me, just to hurt me</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So you leave me feeling dirty</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Cause you can’t understand</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>It was definitely her.  <em>Definitely</em>.  He still felt like he wasn’t breathing.  He wanted to get up, but his entire body felt like it was full of cement.  Just like when he first found her.  He couldn’t move his legs, his arms, <em>anything</em>.  He was stuck in his spot at his table, the fire within him burning.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>We’re going down</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And you can see it, too</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We’re going down</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And you know that we’re doomed</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Oscar played the short guitar interlude expertly, just like Fred knew he would, as Aleida kept the tempo going on the piano. </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Go cry about it, why don’t you?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>He swore she was talking to him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Go cry about it, why don’t you?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>He swore she was talking to herself.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Go cry about it, why don’t you?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>He swore she could see him in the audience, but he knew she couldn’t because of how dark and how far back he was.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room</em>
</p><p> </p><p>As she looked out into the crowd, she practically made direct eye contact with him.  He shivered.  And as the next music break came in, she and Oscar effectively switched; he kept up the tempo of the song on his guitar, while she freelanced on the piano, a delicate mix between loud and roaring but soft and crying – a definite anger in the notes but also a sadness.  Something only Aleida could create.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t you think we ought to know by now?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t you think we should have learned somehow? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He did know by now.  He did learn. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Don’t you think we ought to know by now?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t you think we should have learned somehow? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The fire in him made him finally able to stand up.  He did so dramatically, rocking the table loud enough so the people beside him looked at him.  And as he made his way through the crowd, through the sea of tables and wine glasses so he could be within Aleida’s line of sight, he made even more noise.  None of that mattered.</p><p> </p><p>He needed to see her.  He needed <em>her</em> to see him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Don’t you think we ought to know by now?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Aleida sang out the last lines, looking out into the audience with definite tears in her eyes.  Despite being in a room full of people, she had never felt so empty before; never felt as isolated as she did.  Even with Oscar there.  As she looked out, she noticed a giant figure in the middle of it all.  She blinked once, to clear the welling of tears in her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Tall.  Wide.  Ginger hair.  Ginger beard. </p><p> </p><p>Freddie.</p><p> </p><p>It was Freddie.</p><p> </p><p>He was here.  He was…he was <em>here</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Aleida’s heart stopped beating.  Everything around her stopped.  Suddenly, she was not in a bar full of people in downtown Toronto performing with Oscar.  It was just her, with her piano. </p><p> </p><p>And Fred.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Don’t you think we should have learned somehow? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>As they played their final notes – Aleida absent-mindedly – the crowd began a raucous applause.  Fred was staring right at her, right into her soul, and she was doing the same to him.  Her body went stiff.  She couldn’t move.  She felt like she couldn’t breathe.</p><p> </p><p>He was all Aleida had thought about these past months.  He haunted her dreams.  He haunted every waking moment she had because all she could think about was him.  All she could <em>remember</em> was him.  All she <em>wanted</em> to be remember was him.  But she had been so cruel to him.  She had ruined him like she knew she would inevitably.  She’d left him broken hearted, left him because she was scared.  And there was no way for her to rectify it.  There was no way for her to make it better, because she was never supposed to see him again.  She was supposed to go her way, and he his.  They were never supposed to meet. </p><p> </p><p>But in his absence, and as part of her punishment, she ached.  Her whole body ached for him.  Her mind was a torture chamber of thoughts.  All she could think about was his soft touch.  How he held her.  How he made her feel when she was with him.  In the middle of the night, her body would tremble from the cold and the void, desperate from wanting his touch, his warmth.  And she thought she was bound to wander the earth alone forever now, after what she had done to him.  It was her punishment.  To never know a love like his again.  To look for it, but to never get it. </p><p> </p><p>To look for him, but to never see him.</p><p> </p><p>Yet here he was.</p><p> </p><p>In front of her.</p><p> </p><p>Looking at her.</p><p> </p><p>Seeing her.</p><p> </p><p>The bright lights shining down on the stage were nothing compared to his eyes.  He lost himself in her eyes when he first met her in that Shopper’s Drug Mart, and now, she found herself as she stared into his. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida stood up from her piano seat, not breaking eye contact, and rushed over to him desperately.  He did so too, taking three long strides to meet her at the edge of the stage.  She jumped into his arms, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him passionately.  She immediately felt his warmth.  She immediately felt how soft he was.  She immediately felt his love. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida began to cry as she continued to kiss him.  He was here, in her arms, and she could <em>feel</em> him, and it was all so overwhelming.  “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled against his lips, her tears wetting both their cheeks.  “I’m so sorry, and I love you, and I couldn’t say it, and I was scared, but I love you.  I love you so much Freddie.”</p><p> </p><p>“I love you too, I love you too,” he mumbled, kissing her again.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Freddie…make love to me Freddie, please, <em>please</em>,” Aleida sighed out as Fred’s body was on top of hers, the both of them already naked and on his bed within mere seconds of getting back to his place.  She had thought about this and ached over it for so long that she was shaking in anticipation.  She never wanted to be without it again; she never wanted to crave his physical touch like she had been.</p><p> </p><p>Freddie, for his part, didn’t need to be told twice, and entered her in one swift movement, causing her to cry out in pleasure.  Her nails dragged along his shoulder blades and down his back as he pumped in and out of her slowly, passionately, making sure to make it last.  He looked her in the eye.  He made sure she was looking back at him.  “I love you,” he finally said.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you too.”</p><p> </p><p>“I always have.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida nodded her head.  She knew.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“You came back to me,” Aleida mumbled as they lay together in his bed, wrapped in each other’s arms.  Fred’s touch was soothing; her body no longer ached.  “You just appeared out of nowhere, but you came back to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I went looking,” he admitted quietly.  “I went looking to fill the empty I was feeling without you in my life.  And there you were.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida shifted slightly, propping herself up on her elbow so she could look down on him.  “I’m sorry for everything,” she said, barely above a whisper, as her fingers from her other hand traced shapes on his broad chest.  “I’m sorry for everything I said.  Everything I did.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred shook his head.  He grabbed her hand tracing shapes on his chest and cradled it in his massive hand.  “It’s okay.  You’re here now.”</p><p> </p><p>“And I’m never going to leave,” she said definitively.  He brought her hand up and kissed her knuckles tenderly.  “No matter how scared I get, I’m never going to leave again.  I promise you.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred knew Aleida meant it.   </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>TW: depression, postpartum depression, feelings of helplessness etc.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Fred!  Fred!” Fred was awakened by his name being screamed through the baby monitor perched on Aleida’s bedside table.  “Fred please come in here, <em>please</em>.  I need you.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida’s voice sounded desperate.  He whipped the covers off his body quickly and began walking towards the nursery where he saw Aleida rocking and bouncing a one-month-old Helena, who was crying.  Helena hadn’t been sleeping particularly well since birth, although Fred and Aleida obviously prepared for that.  But when Aleida looked up at him, he could see a look of pure helplessness in her eyes.  They were red – not from fatigue, either.  “Hey, c’mere,” he said softly, extending his arms so he could take Helena from her.</p><p> </p><p>“Why won’t she stop crying?  Why can’t I make her stop crying?” Aleida asked with complete strain in her voice.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Fred cooed as he took Helena from Aleida’s arms, delicately balancing her head in his massive hand as he laid her against his chest.  “I got her, I got her, just relax.”  He began rocking Helena back and forth and almost immediately, Helena calmed down and stopped crying.  He began kissing the top of her head delicately.  “Theeeere we go, Helena.  Theeere we go.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida looked helpless as she watched Helena – her <em>baby</em>, the baby she carried for nine months – calm down for her husband.  It wasn’t that she was jealous – far from it.  She felt worthless.  Completely worthless.  And guilty that she couldn’t help her baby <em>at all</em>.  Tears started to fall from her eyes as she collapsed into the rocking chair.  “She calms down for you.  Why does she calm down for you and not for me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida, it’s okay,” he said.  When he looked down, he could already see Helena’s eyes drooping back to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>She shook her head.  “I can’t do it.  I can’t.  I can’t do it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I can’t do it.  I can’t even comfort my baby,” she cried.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes you can, come on.  You’re just tired.  It’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t do it, Freddie.  I can’t…I can’t…”</p><p> </p><p>“Shhh…it’s okay,” he said, walking over to her in the rocking chair.  “You’re just tired.  She’ll be better tomorrow morning.  <em>You’ll</em> be better tomorrow morning.  Just get some rest.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida tried to pull it together.  She tried to keep her tears behind her eyes as she stood up.  She tried to get a peek of Helena’s face squished on Fred’s chest.  She saw Helena’s cheeks, and her eyes already closed, falling back to sleep.  “You’re so good with her, Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>“Go to bed,” he said, kissing the top of her head.  “Go back to bed.  I’ll be there in a bit.”</p><p> </p><p>As she heeded his request, she walked back towards their bedroom and fell into their bed, wrapping the covers around herself tightly.  A few stray tears fell as she could hear Fred through the baby monitor coo Helena some more before he laid her back into her crib.  When he finally came back to bed and saw her curled up in the fetal position, he got in and cuddled beside her, wrapping an arm around her.  She didn’t move into his touch.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, Aleida.  It’ll get better,” he whispered as he kissed her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>He’d said that before.  <em>It’ll get better.  You’ll get better</em>.  But it wasn’t.  She wasn’t. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t getting better.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Hvem er min smukke prinsesse?” Frederik asked as he finished buttoning up a onesie with a unicorn on it.  Helena gurgled happily at the sound of her father’s voice.  She even smiled slightly, making him smile.  “Hmm?  Hvem er min smukke prinsesse?” he repeated.  [[ Who’s my beautiful princess? ]]</p><p> </p><p>When he finished dressing her, he picked her up and held her in his arms and against his chest.  She gurgled happily again at being so close to her dad, and he bounced her around briefly before leaving her nursery.  At two months old now, she was making much more eye contact with him and smiling so much more, which he loved.  There were little things she’d do, and little faces she’d make, that would completely enamor Fred – send him so far off in the deep end he didn’t even want to get out.  He was so completely in love with Helena. </p><p> </p><p>He turned the hallway, opening the door to his own bedroom.  As he walked in, he saw Aleida still in bed.  He walked quietly over to her, trying not to make too much noise.  “Aleida,” he whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed.  With one hand, her rubbed up and down her shoulder and arm.  She didn’t react at all to his touch.  “You gonna come down for some breakfast?” he asked softly.  “I can pour you a bowl of cereal if you want.  Or eggs – do you want eggs?”</p><p> </p><p>“In a little bit,” she said absent-mindedly, not looking at him or Helena at all. </p><p> </p><p>Fred bit his bottom lip.  That was obviously not the answer he was looking for, but the answer he had to accept.  It was becoming all too common.  Not join him and Helena for breakfast, make her way downstairs around lunchtime to see if everyone was still alive, only to go back up to the bedroom or lie on the couch for the entire afternoon until it was time to go to bed.  “Okay.  Okay.  I uh…I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, getting up again to walk out of the bedroom, closing the door gently behind him. </p><p> </p><p>Fred made his way downstairs, grabbing some of the breastmilk in the fridge Aleida was still able to pump (if she felt like it).  He warmed it up as he always did and sat on the couch with Helena in his arms to feed her.  Even though he did it every morning – well, every feeding, really – he would look at Helena the entire time, completely mesmerized.  He made her.  He <em>helped</em> make her, at least.  Now, he had the greatest gift of all – of taking care of her and raising her.  Making her giggle and laugh, making her smile, making her squirm, making her burp, making her go down for tummy time…everything.  <em>Everything</em>.  He loved it all.  And she was perfect in every single way. </p><p> </p><p>Fred just wished Aleida was here to see it all.</p><p> </p><p>When he finished feeding Helena and began to pat her back to burp her, he could hear his phone vibrate from its place on the counter.  He strolled over to it, glancing at the name and message on the screen.</p><p> </p><p><em>How is Aleida today?</em>  It was a text from Brendan Shanahan. </p><p> </p><p>Fred’s heart stopped beating in his chest momentarily.  He knew he had to be honest, but it pained him to be.  He knew that if anything was going to start getting better, like he promised Aleida it would time and time again, he would have to act.  He would have to be proactive. </p><p> </p><p>He picked up his phone.  <em>I think I need to call a doctor.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Ooooommm!  Ooooommm!” Fred made dramatic eating noises as he began pretend-munching on Helena’s feet, free of socks, as she lay on her blanket on the floor.  “Ooooommm!  Jeg spiser dine tæer!  Jeg spiser dine tæer!”  Helena gurgled happily.  “Mmmmm, så lækkert!”  [[ I’m gonna eat your toes!  I’m gonna eat your toes!  Mmmmm, so yummy!” ]]</p><p> </p><p>Helena let out a string of happy squeals, and Fred momentarily left her feet alone to pepper her face in light kisses, causing more happy squeals and jiggles.  “Jeg elsker dig så meget,” he whispered.  “Jeg elsker dig så meget, Helena.”  [[ I love you so much.  I love you so much, Helena. ]]</p><p> </p><p>His phone began to ring beside him, a series of vibrations that rumbled against the carpet.  He wanted to ignore it, but when he looked over to see who it was, Morgan’s name was flashing across the screen.  He decided to pick up.  “Hey Mo.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Morgan’s cheery voice greeted him on the other end.  “What’s up big guy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you know, just eating Helena’s toes.”</p><p> </p><p>He could hear Morgan chuckle and Bee gasp in the background.  “Oh my God Fred that is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!” she exclaimed.  Fred couldn’t help but giggle at her reaction.  Anything to do with babies and anything to do with Helena, Bee was all over.  He wished Morgan would just propose already so they could get married and start having babies, though at the same time, he understood why Morgan hadn’t yet.  He’d explained his decision – wanting Bee to reach all her goals and live her life first before they got engaged.  Fred understood.  Bee deserved that.</p><p> </p><p>“Bee and I are going to the grocery store.  Do you need us to pick you up some more formula?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t help but smile at their generosity.  “No no, that’s okay.  We went out the other day and just picked some up.”</p><p> </p><p>“We?”</p><p> </p><p>“Me and Helena.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida didn’t come?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.  She uh, she was in bed.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>There was a slight pause from Morgan.  “Listen…I heard they’re gonna send out the announcement tomorrow,” he said, finally finding the right words.  “You’re making the right choice, bud.  I mean, there isn’t even a choice.  There’s <em>no question</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, Mo,” Fred nodded his head, staring down at his daughter.</p><p> </p><p>“You have to do right by Aleida, but more than that, right by Helena,” Morgan said.  “I support you in this.  I mean we all do.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know this is probably a mute question, but would Aleida like any visitors?” Bee asked.</p><p> </p><p>Fred furrowed his brows.  He considered it, because on any other occasion Aleida would have loved to see Bee, but this was not just ‘any other occasion’.  Fred didn’t think Aleida would appreciate Bee showing up when she practically couldn’t get out of her bed.  “I know you mean well, Bee, but I don’t think so.  At least not yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well how about you?” she followed up.  “Would <em>you</em> like a visitor?  Or at least some company next time you bring Helena out?”</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t help but smile.  “Yeah.  That would be nice.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>@DarrenDreger: Toronto Maple Leafs announcing officially today that Frederik Andersen is taking a personal leave of absence.  The organization is not giving specific reasons why Andersen has requested the personal leave, saying he deserves privacy.  No date for a return, either.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>@DarrenDreger: They say they are unequivocal in their support of Andersen and will provide him with whatever resources he needs.  It is worthy to note that Andersen and his wife welcomed a baby in May.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“I want to sue him for every fucking penny he’s worth,” Fred roared into the phone.  Helena was napping in her crib upstairs, as was Aleida.  There was no way she could find out about this.  Fred was ready to explode.  He was ready to march down to every media personnel’s office and beat the shit out of them for releasing the information.  “Him and the entire channel.  Sue them.  Sue tham <em>all</em>.  How <em>dare</em> he word it like that.  How <em>dare</em> he.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fred, we’ll handle it, it’s okay,” Kyle Dubas assured him over the phone.  “We’re on it as we speak.  We’re in contact with everyone we need to be in contact with to get this retracted.”</p><p> </p><p>“It better be retracted by the end of the night and he better issue a personal and public apology or else I swear to God Kyle I’ll fucking <em>explode</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>@DarrenDreger:  I want to offer my sincerest apologies for my tweets yesterday about the Frederik Andersen situation.  It has come to my attention that Frederik and his wife Aleida never announced the birth of their child in order to keep it private and out of the media, and for that I sincerely apologize.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>@DarrenDreger:  It has also come to my attention that the way I worded my third tweet was extremely callous and insensitive.  I did not mean to insinuate anything about Andersen’s child and create any undue stress or harm to the Andersen family.  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>@DarrenDreger:  I absolutely never wanted to put the child’s health in question or put blame on the child being the reason why Andersen is taking his leave.  Again, I sincerely apologize to Frederik Andersen and Aleida Casillas-Andersen for the tweet. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Fred always liked the nighttime best.  When everything was quiet.  When the city was quiet, especially.  When he’d be in Helena’s nursery alone with her, cradling her as he fed her her last bottle, singing or humming to her quietly until she fell asleep against his chest, after which he’d delicately lay her in her crib and watch her for what felt like hours until he’d finally move to turn on the baby monitor, turn off the lights, and go to his own bedroom. </p><p> </p><p>Tonight, Aleida was actually awake.  He saw her eyes open even though she was curled up in the fetal position underneath the covers, and he was grateful.  Grateful that he would able to get this moment with her, however short or long. </p><p> </p><p>He took off his shirt and pants, leaving him in only his boxers as he slipped underneath the covers beside his wife.  “Aleida?” he asked softly.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi Fred.”</p><p> </p><p>He was grateful.  So grateful she responded.  “Wanna look at me?”</p><p> </p><p>There were a few moments of hesitation before Aleida rolled over onto her back.  Fred laid on his side, propping himself up on one of his elbows.  When they finally made eye contact, he sent her a soft smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” she said meekly.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I touch you?” he asked, and she hesitated again before nodding her head.  His hand found its way underneath her t-shirt and onto her stomach.  His hands had been on the baby bump often while Aleida was pregnant, so it was no wonder at least one of them was there now.  He began rubbing comforting circles onto the newly, now-flattened-again skin.  He hoped Aleida felt it.  “How are you feeling today?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida shrugged her shoulders.  “I’m the same, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“How is talking with Doctor Wong going?” he asked, mentioning the psychiatrist Aleida had been seeing for her postpartum depression. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s good.  I like her.  She understands how much I want to get better,” Aleida began.  “She uh…she wants me to go on anti-depressants.  She says it will help a lot with the depression, and it’ll help me start…you know…<em>recovering</em>.  Because they take several weeks to start to kick in.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want to do that?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida started nodding her head before he even finished asking his question.  “Yes.  <em>Yes</em>.  Anything to help me…help me <em>feel</em> something again.  Help me become the mom I know I can be to Helena.  To help <em>you</em>.  You…” her voice began to crack, “you don’t deserve <em>any</em> of this.  You’ve basically been a single parent for <em>months</em> and you’ve had to give up your <em>career</em> and it’s not fair to <em>you</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“Heeeey hey hey, shhhhhhh shhhhhh,” he began shaking his head.  “Aleida, it’s not about that.  It’s not about that—”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes it <em>is</em> about that,” she cut him off, tears falling down her cheeks now.  “It <em>is</em> about that, Freddie.  I’m trapped in my own body and mind.  I know I want to get better for Helena, for <em>you</em> and your <em>career</em>, but…but I’m in this <em>war</em>…” she began to breathe heavily. </p><p> </p><p>“Shhhhhh, it’s okay,” Fred wrapped his arms around her and held her, trying to calm her down.  “Aleida, this is not your fault.  <em>This is not your fault</em>.  I know it’s hard but you’re going to get through it.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I’m never going to get these months back,” she cried as she looked up at him.  “That’s what’s killing me the most.  I’m never…I’m the worst mother—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No</em>, Aleida—”</p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t help my baby.  I couldn’t even get her to stop crying—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Aleida</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“And when I held her I felt <em>nothing</em>.  What <em>mother</em> holds their newborn daughter and feels <em>nothing</em>?!”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida, <em>please</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“I know I love my baby but I can’t <em>love her</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Stop it</em>, Aleida.  Please stop doing this to yourself,” he urged, squeezing her against his body as she cried into his chest.  “You’re a great mother, Aleida.  I know you will <em>be</em> a great mother.”</p><p> </p><p>She cried for a long time.  A <em>very</em> long time.  But Fred held her the entire time, gave her kisses on top of her head, whispered reassurances in her ear, not knowing if it would even help.  Despite his own fatigue, despite the wear and tear on his own well-being, he knew he had to be there for his wife.  There was no other option.   If this was going to be another night where Aleida would cry herself to sleep and he would only get maybe an hour of sleep in before Helena woke up again, then so be it.  That was the way it would have to be. </p><p> </p><p>As her cries became lighter, Fred gave her another kiss on her forehead.  “I love you, Aleida.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you?” she sniffled meekly.  “Still?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s heart shattered in a million pieces at her question – at the tone of it, the wording, <em>everything</em>.  “<em>Of course</em> I do.  Nothing could ever make me stop loving you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not even being unable to take care of our baby?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred shook his head.  “Nothing,” he said definitively.  “I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida fell asleep in Fred’s arms that night, the sound of his heartbeat bringing her the smallest bit of solace. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Look sweetpea, there’s Morgan, one of daddy’s best friends,” Frederik spoke to his daughter as she lay against his chest, with Fred lying down on the couch while watching the Leaf game.  The boys were in town, playing against the Tampa Bay Lightning.  They were currently up 2-0 in the second period.  “He helps make sure pucks don’t get to daddy.  Oh and look, there’s Auston, another one of daddy’s best friends.  He scores a lot of goals.”</p><p> </p><p>Helena squealed happily, wiggling around slightly in his arms.  He craned his neck to give her a big kiss on her chubby cheeks.  “You’ll go to a game one day too – don’t worry.  When mommy wants you to go.  Maybe when it’s closed and when nobody is there but the team.”</p><p> </p><p>“Brrrbbbaaaa!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes!  And you’ll wear your little Andersen jersey, and you’ll look even more adorable than you do now, and everybody will swoon over you like I do every day!”</p><p> </p><p>“Brrrbamamamama!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes sweetpea!  Mama will be there.  Mama will <em>always</em> be there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mamamama.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeeeees, mama.  Mommy loves you so much.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fred?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s eyes widened at the sound of Aleida’s voice.  He grabbed onto Helena’s chubby body before rising from his position on the couch.  He looked behind him to see Aleida standing in the doorway in a pair of his pajamas – well, one of his old t-shirts that draped over her body like a dress, and a pair of shorts.  To say that he was shocked to see her down here, now, was an understatement.  He’d assumed she wouldn’t come down the whole night.  “Hey baby,” he greeted her. </p><p> </p><p>“You guys watching the game?” she asked, nodding slightly towards the television. </p><p> </p><p>Fred didn’t take his eyes off of her.  “Yeah.  Just showing her the boys.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can…” she started, very clearly nervous.  She started picking at her nails.  “Can I watch too?”</p><p> </p><p>“Wh—<em>of course</em>,” Fred said, standing up immediately to extend an arm for Aleida to come over.  “Come on.  Come over here.  We’re up 2-0.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.  Good.”</p><p> </p><p>They sat beside each other on the couch, close, so that their thighs were touching.  Fred still held Helena in his arm.  “Are they playing well?”</p><p> </p><p>“Very.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida focused on the TV momentarily.  “Good.”  She settled in more, though Fred could tell she wasn’t completely comfortable.  He adjusted Helena in his arms so she was sitting on his lap, facing the TV.  He could see Aleida watching, secretly.  Helena would babble every so often, and try to look back at her parents.  After several minutes of <em>“watching the game”</em>, Aleida finally spoke up.  “F…Fred?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Can…” she was obviously apprehensive, obviously very scared.  “Do you think I can hold Helena?”</p><p> </p><p>Fred’s heart softened.  “Aleida, you don’t have to ask to hold your own daughter,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“I know…but, but she’s being so good, and you’re so good with her…she’s not used to me—”</p><p> </p><p>“Here,” he said, readying for the transfer.  Aleida extended her arms and hands, and held onto Helena gingerly.  “She likes close contact.  You can put her on your knee and like, against your chest if you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will she be okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“She’ll be great,” Fred nodded his head, trying to give Aleida some confidence.  He watched as she sat Helena in the position Fred recommended.  Once satisfied with the transfer, Helena let out a happy squeal.  Aleida let out a little relieved laugh at the sound.  Fred smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“When – when does she take her bottle before bed?” Aleida asked.</p><p> </p><p>Fred looked at his watch quickly.  “I start prepping the bottle in about five minutes.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida nodded her head in understanding.  “Can I…I mean,” she paused, thinking about the words she wanted to say, “I<em> want</em> to feed her.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can do that,” Fred smiled.  “She’d love that.”</p><p> </p><p>Five minutes later, Fred disappeared into the kitchen to mix the formula and warm up the bottle.  When he returned to the couch, Aleida was smiling down at Helena, who was happily gurgling and looking up at her mom.  When Fred sat down beside them, he took the initiative to cuddle up to Aleida, and was so relieved when she let him.  He handed her the bottle.  “Lean her back in your arms…cradle her until she’s comfortable,” he instructed gently.  “She likes to be…like…<em>cradled</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida moved Helena, holding her in one arm and cradling her as Fred handed her the bottle.  Aleida brought it to Helena’s mouth, and she took it immediately.  Aleida let out another sigh of relief.  She looked down at Helena the entire time; Helena looked at her the entire time.  And when Helena was ready to be burped, Fred placed the towel on Aleida’s shoulder and showed her how.  Aleida pat her back – Helena even spit up a little, which caused both Fred and Aleida to giggle – before the coveted burp escaped her.  Like clockwork, Helena fell asleep soon after.</p><p> </p><p>They climbed up the stairs.  As Aleida placed a sleeping Helena into her crib, Fred was there, watching.   Aleida gently patted her hair and ran her finger along Helena’s chubby cheek.  Fred stood with her, wrapping an arm around her as she continued to look down at her daughter.  He could see a few tears fall.</p><p> </p><p>“You alright?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida nodded her head.  She looked up at Fred, finally.  “That was nice,” she whispered, choking back on her tears.  “That was all so <em>nice</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Fred engulfed her in a hug.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Fred, how do you say, ‘You’re the sweetest, most precious girl in all the land and I’m going to buy you all the books you ever want for the rest of your life’ in Danish?”</p><p> </p><p>“Du er den søde, mest dyrebare pige i hele landet, og jeg vil købe dig alle de bøger, du nogensinde har lyst til resten af dit liv,” he said from the stove. </p><p> </p><p>“Blah blah <em>blah</em> blah hygge hygge <em>books</em>,” Bee babbled to Helena who was relaxing in her baby rocker set on the kitchen counter. </p><p> </p><p>Morgan and Aleida laughed from the kitchen table as Morgan set it.  Fred, having just finished with frying the bacon, turned off the stove.  “Do you mind grabbing the bacon so I can take her, actually?  I’ve got her bottle ready right here and—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got her,” Aleida’s voice popped up as she made her way out of her seat and towards the island. </p><p> </p><p>Fred looked over his shoulder.  “You sure?” he asked.  Morgan and Bee knew better than to intervene. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, of course,” she said, her voice upbeat as she took Helena in her arms and the bottle from Fred.  “Let’s eat before the bacon and milk get cold.”</p><p> </p><p>Everybody settled into their seats, grabbing their portions of the scrambled eggs, bacon, and fruit salad that was prepared.  Aleida held Helena on her lap while feeding her from the bottle from the same hand.  Fred couldn’t help but smile.  She picked up her fork with her other hand and began eating her breakfast.  “So do you guys have to go on a road trip soon?” Aleida asked Morgan as she put some strawberries into her mouth. </p><p> </p><p>“This Thursday we’re leaving for Chicago,” Morgan said.  “It’s a quick one.  Won’t be too bad.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, here’s hoping Fred will be able to join you guys on some upcoming ones in the near future,” Aleida said.</p><p> </p><p>Morgan almost dropped his fork.  He furrowed his brows as he looked between Fred and Aleida; Bee doing the same.  “Wait…what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well…” Aleida said, taking a deep breath.  “Nothing is set in stone yet, but um…” she looked over to Fred, who was already reaching out to grab her hand across the table.  “My anti-depressants are working wonders.  With the therapy and the daily meditation and yoga and you know, just the entire <em>program</em> I’ve been doing, I’ve been feeling so much better…”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida, that’s <em>amazing</em>,” Bee said, sensing Aleida needed a moment to collect her thoughts and emotions. </p><p> </p><p>“But you know there doesn’t have to be a timeline on this,” Morgan added. </p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know,” she nodded her head knowingly.  “I mean, it’s only October.  I’m not saying he’s going to come back next week.  He would never do that,” she laughed slightly, looking towards her husband.  “But we…with the new positivity, and um…well, we think we’re going to hire a nanny – at the least a night nanny, but maybe full-time – to help with the transition until I feel confident on my own…”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida is just feeling more confident now that she’s feeling better,” Fred picked up where she left off.  “It’s going to be a while still – we know that – but it’s steps in the right direction.  In the direction she wants to go in, and that will benefit the family.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, that’s a cause for celebration then!” Bee said cheerily, holding up her glass of orange juice.  “To…to…” she tried to think of a good salute.</p><p> </p><p>“To me feeling better,” Aleida announced.</p><p> </p><p>Morgan nodded his head.  “To Aleida feeling better.”</p><p> </p><p>When breakfast was over and Fred and Morgan were cleaning up, Aleida and Bee took Helena upstairs to change her diaper.  Bee watched on as Aleida did so, keeping Helena occupied by making funny faces at her. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you religious?” Aleida asked once she was finished buttoning up Helena’s outfit.</p><p> </p><p>“Not particularly.  Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida took a deep breath.  “Fred’s been telling me about everything you’ve done.  What <em>everyone’s</em> been doing to help, really.  But <em>you</em>.  How you always wanted to visit me, how you’d come do laundry or pick up formula or diapers and—”</p><p> </p><p>“Aleida, it was honestly noth—”</p><p> </p><p>“No, <em>stop</em>,” Aleida interrupted.  Bee stayed silent, although she wanted to wipe the ashamed look off of Aleida’s face forever.  “You’re an angel on Earth, Bee.  I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You never have to,” Bee said.  Aleida lowered her head.  “Listen, I’ve told you about my past.  You know that just a few months into my relationship with Morgan, someone broke into my apartment and stole all my stuff.  The way my new friends rallied around me dumbfounded me.  I wasn’t used to people helping me ever in my life.  But from that time forward I promised myself that if I was ever in a position lucky enough where I was able to give back like that, I wouldn’t hesitate,” she explained.  “You didn’t need my help monetarily, but you needed it on other ways.  I was prepared to do whatever it took to help.  Because I love you and Fred and Helena, and because you guys are my friends.  Simple as that.”</p><p> </p><p>Aleida nodded, a few tears streaming down her face.  “I just…I want you to know how much I appreciate it.  Really.  Because I couldn’t be a mom for the longest time.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know you do,” Bee said gently, rubbing her back. </p><p> </p><p>Aleida wiped away her tears quickly.  She chuckled slightly.  “I’m gonna buy you a bottle of Dom, Bee.”</p><p> </p><p>Bee chuckled along.  “As long as we crack it open together.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>@TSNBobMcKenzie: BREAKING: New Year, new news: The Toronto Maple Leafs are in talks to activate Frederik Andersen from IR.  Andersen did not start the season with the club due to his personal leave of absence, which was supported by the organization.  More to come.</p><p> </p><p>@TSNBobMcKenzie: Just rumours right now.  Nothing confirmed.  Club says call will be made by Andersen whenever he is ready.  There is absolutely no pressure for him to return.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>#GIRLDAD</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>@TSNBobMcKenzie: BREAKING: Toronto Maple Leafs move to activate Frederik Andersen off injured reserve.  </em>
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  <em>@TSNBobMcKenzie: Rumour is that Andersen may start in net as early as the first game back from the All-Star Break.  Brendan Shanahan, Kyle Dubas, and Frederik Andersen to speak to media at 11am.  Tune into TSN for live coverage.</em>
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  <em>@TSNBobMcKenzie:  I can hear Leaf fans screaming from my desk.  Oh, happy days.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Freddie, you’ve officially announced your return to the club.  We think everyone saw the Instagram post, but would you care to elaborate at all about your personal leave, perhaps for the fans who have been waiting?” a reporter asked.</p><p> </p><p>Fred cocked his neck to the side a bit.  “I mean, I thought the post was a pretty obvious answer to where I’ve been,” he began.  “I was busy being a father to my daughter.  There are things that take precedent over hockey.  My daughter being one of them.  I do not regret my decision and I never, <em>ever</em> will, but in saying that, I am excited to be back with the club, and I’m excited to play again, that’s for sure.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think Fred became a role model for a lot of the guys in this room, as if he wasn’t already,” Brendan Shanahan spoke up.  “Like he said, there are things that take precedent over hockey – children are…they’re at the top of that list.  Fred took the time off he needed to take to ensure that his daughter was healthy.  The boys in the room supported him, and we at the top supported him wholeheartedly.  We’re happy to see him back.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Helena!  Helena!  Come to mama!”</p><p> </p><p>“Mama…mama,” Helena spoke as Fred picked her up and balanced her on her feet again, balancing her by the tip of her hands. </p><p> </p><p>“Go to mama, Helena.  Go to mama,” he said close to her ear as he released her delicately. </p><p> </p><p>Helena took a shaky step forward, though she kept her balance, putting her other foot forward.  She kept balancing without Fred’s help, causing Fred to smile.  He could hear <em>“Come on Helena!”</em> being repeated from Aleida over and over again.  When Helena made eye contact with her mom, she smiled and began walking towards her.  After a few more wobbly steps, Helena finally reached Aleida, who engulfed Helena in a huge hug.  Both Fred and Aleida started cheering like she’d just finished a marathon.  Aleida started peppering her with kisses, and Fred rose from his spot and moved over to join in on the kissing.</p><p> </p><p>“Mama loves you Helena,” Aleida would say in between kisses.  “Mama loves you so much.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mama,” Helena said back with a giggle in her voice from all the kisses.  She looked over at Fred, who loomed over Aleida’s shoulder.  “Dada.”</p><p> </p><p>“Far elsker dig også, Helena.”</p>
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